


Unlocked

by pelespen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Big Bang Challenge, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 17:56:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 55,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pelespen/pseuds/pelespen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <img/>
  </p>
</div>Driven to near-insanity at the hand of Bellatrix Lestrange, Hermione finds her solace and reason to survive in thoughts and<br/>memories of her love. How will she find her way out of the safety of her own mind, however, and what does the future hold for her afterwards?
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Characters and their canon origins are the property of J.K. Rowling. All sexual acts depicted are between consenting, of-age adults. No money is being made here.
> 
> Viktor/Hermione is brief and secondary. Millions of thanks to calistokerrigan, jadecharmer, and tinkwolfe for helping me stay sane while writing this one. There were many things I hated about this project, but they helped me pull through and make the best of it! <3
> 
> Originally written for the Hermione Big Bang of 2009 (yes, it's old!). This was actually somewhat of a remix from another Hermione/Sirius story, so if things seem a little "off" character-wise, compared to how I usually write them in my other fics, that would be why. Either way, hope you enjoy!

  
“We must summon the Dark Lord!”  
  
Before Lucius Malfoy had a chance to roll up the sleeve of his robe, a flash of light left him in an unconscious heap on the floor.   
  
“No,” Bellatrix snarled at the rest of them, brandishing her wand in warning. “Would you interrupt Him on His most important mission? He will be returning tonight with the one thing that will ensure His victory, and I shall have the greatest gift of all waiting right here for Him,” she gloated as she gave Harry’s face a hard mocking pinch.  
  
Narcissa hesitated, considering the situation silently before softly commanding, “Take them down to the cellar, Greyback.”  
  
“Wait,” said Bellatrix sharply, narrowing her eyes hungrily. “All except… except for the Mudblood.”  
  
Hermione’s blood turned to ice as everyone filed noisily out of the parlour. Ron’s frantic protestations could be heard even after the heavy door banged shut.  
  
“I don’t know anything,” she said in a trembling voice.  
  
“No?” Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. “That’s not what my darling nephew tells me. He says you’re the smartest in your class.” She tilted her head, her tone mockingly sweet. “No matter,” she smirked, prowling in a little circle around Hermione. “You’re not here for interrogation, my pretty. You’re here for… entertainment.”  
  
Terrified and captivated by the cold, dark, heavy-lidded eyes that held her, Hermione hadn’t noticed the return of two of their captors, until the tall, thin but imposing witch nodded in their direction.   
  
“I’d let them have their turn first, but Rabastan here has a way with witches that tends to addle their brains beyond recognition, and that just wouldn’t make it nearly as much fun for me,” she hissed. “Brightest witch at Hogwarts… can’t wait to see how quickly I can snuff that little mind of yours, just like Frank and Alice Longbottom…”   
  
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and shuddered at the sensation of cold polished wood sliding softly along her cheek. She could almost feel the hateful magic trailing in the wake of Bellatrix’s wand tip.  
  
“And of course,” the witch continued with a lurid chuckle, “There’s never much of anything left once Greyback is done with them.”  
  
She pressed her lips tightly against the whimper that threatened to escape, tears already stinging the backs of her eyelids.  
  
“So, then,” Bellatrix chirped suddenly, causing Hermione to jump. “Shall we begin?”   
  
Something wide pressed against her mouth and she opened her eyes.   
  
“Open up, love. Don’t want you biting off that sharp little tongue of yours – would make it hard to hear you beg, and that’s the boys’ favourite part.” She flicked her head in the direction of the two dark wizards watching from the other side of the room. Fenrir grinned filthily, a low growl rumbling from his huge body. Rabastan was smaller in comparison, but still an intimidating wizard with black tattoos in the shape of flames that ran up his neck and over the side of his face. He, too, grinned at the terrified young witch, rubbing his hand suggestively over his groin with a chuckle. Hermione felt her stomach twist threateningly, and could feel the burn of bile in her throat as the terrified whimper she’d held back escaped her.  
  
A small flat leather paddle the size and shape of a large spoon was crammed between Hermione’s lips, pressing down on her tongue and stretching the corners of her mouth. She gagged, causing the tears to spill down her cheeks.   
  
Bellatrix stood back and tilted her head, admiring her handiwork. “You won’t need these,” she said simply, and with a flick of her wand, Hermione’s bindings slipped away.   
  
Instinctively, Hermione bolted toward the door and was hit squarely between her shoulder blades by the first curse. As she fell to her knees, an involuntary scream tearing from her throat through the flat of leather, the realization hit her of just how much sport they would truly be taking in her torture.   
  
The pain seared through her body, starting at its origin and flaring outwards, crackling along every nerve ending. It was like nothing she had ever experienced, and it seemed to go on for hours. She was so certain she’d die from it, and felt herself wishing she would, but she didn’t.   
  
It stopped, just long enough for her to register the unearthly cackling filling the large room before it hit her again, this time lower, ripping through her side, and somehow it was even worse, the agony tearing through her insides, screaming through her organs. Somewhere in her mind she became aware of a humiliating wet warmth seeping down her trousers legs and soaking her front, and her shrieks were broken, punctuated into sobs.  
  
Full-on laughter rang through the parlour from her audience. “Well done!” Rabastan crowed.   
  
Hermione’s mortification offered little reprieve however, before another blast hit her and she realized in panic, she could  _feel_  her thoughts jumbling, her mind slipping…  
  
 _No, please, dear Circe no…_  she begged inwardly, scrambling mentally for anything to clutch onto, something that would anchor her sanity, hold her in place through this unspeakable torment.  
  
Grey eyes flashed into her mind, and beneath the agony, beneath the cries that were already ragged and hoarse, beneath the scalding sensation of her every nerve turning on itself, she found it, found her one solace - the one thing that would keep her from giving in.   
  
 _Sirius…_  she thought, the name almost a prayer in her head. Frantically she clung to first the image of his eyes, then clawed desperately for the recollection of his hair, his face, his lips, oh his lips… the things they did to her…   
  
Hermione was dimly aware of the fact that she was still writhing, still screaming though her throat was surely bleeding by now. They were still toying with her, a hellish game of cat and mouse. Bellatrix would  _Crucio_  her victims just long enough to take them to the edge of complete breakdown, then stop, just long enough to pull them back and buy her another round of ‘entertainment.’ It was a well-rehearsed dance, and though her mind was tucking itself into the safest corner it could find, Hermione’s body still responded to the curse as if she were a marionette dangling from the mouth of a rabid dog. The sounds grew further and further away, however, as she separated herself, buried her sanity in the only thing that mattered now.  
  
After Merlin only knew how long, the pain stopped for a longer stretch than before. Hermione became vaguely aware of feet scuffling and she wondered with a wave of nauseating dread if her next form of torture was coming up. Her limbs, her entire body, even her face, felt as if they were made of lead. With great effort, she forced her eyes open enough to register that she was lying on the cold marble of the floor. Her heart skipped a beat at what was surely a hallucination.  _Glass everywhere, and…_  she thought feebly,  _Sirius?_  
  
Her mind dimly processed the image of a tall, handsome, black-haired wizard, teeth bared in fury, as a brilliant flash of red shot from his wand. The force of the hex was so fierce that when it found its target, his mad cousin was thrown from her feet into the air, through glass, and into the dark billowing fabric beyond. Unable to comprehend the ensuing chaos, Hermione let herself slip back into darkness, the steady thin stream of thoughts and images that had kept her safe now erratic and weak like a faltering heartbeat.   
  
Sudden arms, gentle and warm, wrapped themselves around her. A broken murmur in a voice she so cherished pleaded desperately, “No… Hermione, love -  _please_ …”  
  
Did she die? She felt herself turned, lifted slightly, and the pain that echoed through her body answered ‘no’. The heartbroken sound of Sirius’ voice tugged at her, and with a strength she didn’t really feel she possessed, she forced her eyes open again.   
  
There, her anchor, those storm cloud eyes, filled with fear and grief and tears… Hermione tried to move an arm, a hand, something. Failing that, she focused on her mouth, curious that the leather gag had been removed without her knowledge. Her lips were impossibly swollen and cracked, her tongue like sandpaper. “Sss…” she tried.   
  
“Shh,” he hushed, a gasp of relief breaking through. “I’m getting you out of here. This is going to hurt, and I’m sorry,” he warned, before pulling her close to him, his arms cradling her back and legs.   
  
Hermione let her eyes fall shut as she was lifted into the safety of his embrace. From a distance, she heard shouting and commotion before the sudden squeeze of Apparition pressed in painfully, and darkness overtook her.


	2. A Rocky Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry - looking over this fic, I really loathed the way Sirius treated Hermione in the beginning. Hopefully things will redeem themselves for you the reader as the story unfolds!

_She was floating. No, that wasn’t right. Drifting? She wondered briefly once again if she was dead, but through the abstract haze of seemingly endless memories and images, she knew she heard voices,_ real _voices. They were voices of people she knew, and she latched onto that, testing herself, pleased she could easily discern whose belonged to whom. Professor McGonagall… Madam Pomfrey… Sirius… oh, Sirius…  
  
“What happened?” Professor McGonagall’s panicked voice rang through her thoughts.  
  
“Bella,” Sirius snarled tightly.  
  
Hermione felt herself being set down, her limbs carefully laid out straight on soft, clean sheets before a _Scourgify _charm was cast over her.  
  
“Oh dear. For how long?” Madam Pomfrey’s voice fretted.  
  
“I don’t know,” Sirius spoke softly. Hermione felt a pang at the tone in his voice. She wanted so badly to comfort him, to tell him she really was alright, but her body just would not cooperate.   
  
The voices were drowned out by another swell of panic as she tried to discern what was going on. What had happened? Why couldn’t she move? It didn’t feel like a Body-Bind curse, rather it felt as though lead instead of blood ran through her veins, heavy and deep yet not completely unfamiliar. She pressed against her mind, forcing herself to remember.  
  
They’d been captured… Harry had slipped up and broken the taboo on Voldemort’s name. They were taken to Malfoy Manor, and then Bellatrix… _Oh, god _… Just as the darkness of her terror started to engulf her mind, Hermione pushed it away, tamped it down and found another memory, unrelated but true - a first kiss, something to hang on to, yes, her reason for not unraveling…  
  
The memory wasn’t the nicest one, but it served as a starting point, the beginning of them, really._  
  


~oOo~

  
  
She was going to be sick, she was certain.   
  
The longer Sirius ranted at her, the more he admonished and berated her feelings and fumed around the room at her, the closer she came to tears or throwing up or both. Further, a very practical side of her was growing more and more irritated with him, as she trained her eyes on an ancient carpet stain, focused on maintaining her composure. _He made his point perfectly clear in the first three sentences,_  she thought moodily.  _Is it really so necessary to rub it in like this? Just shut up. Leave me alone._ Please _leave me alone. Shut the hell up, damn you!_  
  
“…Do I make myself  _perfectly clear_ , Hermione?” he demanded, his grey eyes cold, his voice too much like a Hogwarts professor reprimanding her.  
  
Hermione bit back the urge to answer, ‘Yes  _Sir_ ,’ in as scathing a tone as she’d like, and instead forced a reply that sounded nauseatingly meek to her own ears. “Of course, Sirius. I’m sorry.”   
  
Steel cool grey softened as his voice changed to a more fatherly tone that very nearly pushed Hermione over her limit. “Let’s just put this behind us, alright? You’ll get over it in no time. There’s a whole world of wizards your own age out there-”  
  
“Right,” Hermione interrupted, straightening her shoulders and pointedly shifting herself away from him. She couldn’t completely keep the annoyed tone out of her voice at his patronizing words. “I’ve got it.”  
  
Sirius paused and stood there awkwardly before he finally gave a nod of understanding. “Right then,” he said stiffly. “See you at dinner in a bit?”  
  
Hermione merely nodded, wishing him, willing him out the door  _now,_  before she lost it completely. Thankfully, in three long strides and the click of the latch, her wish was granted. She waited until she was certain he was gone, then dashed down the hall to the room she shared with Ginny over their stays at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Slamming the door behind her as she felt her stomach turn, she barely made it to the small, attached bathroom before expelling the contents of her stomach. She stood shakily, eyes streaming, and pointed her wand at the bedroom door, uttering a locking and silencing charm lest one more person enter and make her feel like more of an idiot that she already did.  
  
Overwhelmed with several gut-wrenching emotions, a harsh sob escaped her, breaking a very large floodgate of tears.   
  
 _Why in Merlin’s name did it have to happen like this?_  she thought bitterly, sinking to the cold tile floor and burying her face in her arms. It wasn’t her fault Sirius had conspired with not only Fred and George, but also Bill and Molly Weasley to charm that stupid hat. It  _certainly_  wasn’t her fault that he had put his “special touch” on it that would draw to its holder the object of her affections, and force them to kiss.   
  
 _No, not just ‘affections’_ , Hermione corrected unhappily, but ‘ _love_ ’. And not just any kiss – oh, no, because Sirius Black sure as hell never did anything halfway. No, it had to be a bone melting, soul crushing, heart stopping, blood boiling, feel-it-in-the-tips-of-your-toes _kiss._  It was ‘meant for a young woman in love’, he’d said before telling her just what he thought of her feelings that were  _supposed_  to be hers and hers alone.  
  
They had planted the cursed Shield Hat (she refused to consider it ‘charmed’ at all) on the seat of a kitchen chair, planning on Tonks being the one to pick it up. Mrs. Weasley was even in on it…  
  
 _Molly Weasley! That meddling, fussy, judgmental woman who was always oh, so disapproving of any kind of prank or mischief - she not only knew and allowed it, but helped_ plan _this fiasco!_  Hermione fumed to herself.   
  
Molly, Bill, Fred, George, and Sirius were the ones responsible for this sick humiliation. All because they were tired of watching Remus and Tonks mooning over each other but never doing anything about it themselves. Hermione took a tiny bit of satisfaction in knowing that her former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor would certainly have something to say about their meddling.  
  
Their plan had backfired, however, and it was Hermione in whose face it blew up. Tonks had floo’ed over at the last minute to say she was running late, and when Hermione entered the kitchen to inform them, she’d gone to sit in the vacant chair meant for the Tonks. Noticing the stray Shield Hat left on the seat, she’d unwittingly picked it up to move it out of the way. Several seconds later, her world went completely sideways as Sirius strode purposefully to her, his eyes filled with more heat and desire than she’d ever imagined possible. Her breath had caught as he’d approached her. She’d been certain there was some misunderstanding, no matter how much she would have hoped otherwise. Just as she’d opened her mouth to speak, his lips were there, ravaging hers in a way she’d only read about in the books she kept hidden behind transfigured covers.   
  
They still tingled and felt slightly bruised, the delicate skin around her mouth somewhat tender from the stubble on his face. The memory, as wonderful as it should have been, unfortunately brought another wave of shame, humiliation, anger, hurt, and betrayal. She couldn’t quite decide which feeling was more prevalent, since practically half the Weasley clan had been in on the sick little prank, and were surely explaining at that very moment the sordid details of how it worked to the rest of the group who’d witnessed this disaster.   
  
 _Oh gods… Harry…_  Hermione felt another sick twist in her stomach. Sirius had made sure to throw that into his tirade as well, as if she needed reminding. ‘You’re too close to Harry,’ he’d said. How was she going to face her best friend now?  
  
Hermione let out a shuddering breath and held a cold wet washcloth over her face. She would have been perfectly content to silently ride out the crush she’d been harboring. She wasn’t a fool, despite Sirius’ cruel little speech just moments ago. She’d known she didn’t have a hope. But it was  _her_  crush,  _her_  feelings to have, and now he’d gone and ripped them to shreds, saying he had ‘tolerated’ her because it was part of ‘adolescence.’ She was seventeen, for Merlin’s sake, not some spotty-faced little third-year! She had held it so close to her heart - it was her secret alone, and now not only did everyone know, but he’d taken her most private feelings and thrown them in her face to make her feel stupid and childish, all because a group of supposed ‘grown-ups’ couldn’t manage to keep their noses out of someone else’s business.  
  
 _‘I’ll see you at dinner’ indeed._  Hermione thought wretchedly. As if she could face him, face  _any_  of them right now, if ever.   
  
Slowly pulling the cloth away from her puffy tearstained face, Hermione stood and looked unseeingly at her reflection in the mirror, coming to a decision. She would  _not_  be facing any of them right now. She didn’t have to. However much Sirius Black felt he could treat her otherwise, she was an adult witch now, and she sure as hell didn’t  _need_ to stay with any of them over her holiday. She splashed more cold water on herself and dried off, then braided her unruly hair back into a loose plait before setting to work on packing.  
  
Minutes later, a soft knock came on the door, followed by Ginny Weasley’s tentative voice.   
  
“Hermione? Dinner is almost ready. Can I come in?”  
  
She took a deep breath and opened the door for the younger witch.   
  
Ginny’s eyes widened as she entered and saw Hermione’s trunk open and partially packed. “What are you doing?” she asked, alarmed.  
  
Hermione sighed. “I’m going home, Gin. It’s… Christmas, you know, a time to be with family…”  
  
“You ARE family!” Ginny exclaimed.  
  
Hermione forced a grateful smile. “But I want to be with  _my_  family.” She shook her head and continued weaving an excuse for her departure, other than raw humiliation and hurt feelings. “Mum and Dad weren’t exactly thrilled when I asked to come here for the holiday instead of celebrating with them, and I’ve been feeling more and more homesick since I got here.”  
  
“Oh, please don’t do this, Hermione – it wasn’t your fault,” the redhead placed a hand on her shoulder.  
  
“No?” Hermione gave a bitter laugh and continued packing. “Well, evidently I am the one at fault, since I’m the one with  _inappropriate_  feelings.”   
  
Ginny’s eyes narrowed. “Just what did he  _say_  to you?” she demanded.  
  
Hermione considered the youngest Weasley for a moment, but found she just couldn’t repeat Sirius’ lecture. “Nothing I didn’t already know, I suppose,” she muttered unhappily and turned back to her trunk. With a flash of anger she added nastily, “Although perhaps instead of apologizing I should have thanked him for being so ‘tolerant’ of me.”  
  
“You  _apologized_  to him?” Ginny’s voice dropped with anger and incredulity. “ _He_  should have been apologizing to you!”  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” Hermione mumbled softly. She felt another surge of tears and took it out on her luggage by slamming the top of her trunk shut, the sound signifying a closed issue to both witches.  
  
“Please stay,” Ginny repeated, but the conviction in her voice was gone.  
  
Hermione snuffled noisily. “I’m sorry, Ginny - I can’t. I’m sure he’s right and I’ll just get over it, but right now I just can’t go down there and have dinner like it didn’t happen. Could you?”  
  
Her friend gave her a sympathetic look. “I suppose you’re right…”  
  
“Honestly, I just want to go home and be alone for a few days. I need to be with my Mum and Dad for a bit, and then I’ll be fine.”  
  
Giving an understanding nod, Ginny asked, “Anything I can do to help?”  
  
“Actually yes,” Hermione answered. “Would you mind going down to the parlour and grabbing a handful of floo powder for me? I don’t want to cause a scene trying to leave through the downstairs fireplace. And don’t tell anyone, please!” she begged as the youngest Weasley headed downstairs.  
  
Left alone for a moment, Hermione set the bag of Christmas gifts she had purchased for everyone on the bed. She pulled out a distinctive looking package and looked at it sadly. She pondered only for a moment before tapping it with her wand, transfiguring the kid-soft leather motorcycle gloves inside into a book she’d seen on the care and mating habits of hippogriffs.   
  
 _Not so irrelevant as to be completely thoughtless, but hopefully impersonal and boring enough to bring him to tears. Probably wouldn’t read it anyway,_  she thought unhappily before placing it back in the bag with the rest of the packages to be left on the neatly made bed.  
  
When Ginny returned, she was more than ready to leave, and gave her friend a quick squeeze before floo’ing - not home, but to the Leaky Cauldron.   
  


~oOo~

  
  
_“Hermione! Hermione, we won!”  
  
Ron’s voice was quickly shushed by a furious Madam Pomfrey. “There are others here too, Ronald Weasley, and they’re _all _in critical condition, so I thank you to keep your voice lowered,” she hissed.  
  
‘Critical condition?’ thought Hermione, bewildered and somewhat concerned.   
  
Evidently Ronald had a similar reaction. “But… she’s fine, right? She looks fine, she’s just knocked out…”   
  
There was a scuffle of feet and whispers that she couldn’t quite make out, followed by the creak of a chair near her side.  
  
“Can I…” his voice inquired softly, before she felt fingers sliding under her hand and wrapping around her palm.   
  
He cleared his voice in that awkward but endearing way.   
  
“Hermione,” Ron said in a subdued voice, although it held a strange, strained quality to it. “Erm… yeah. Like I was saying, we won… Well, Harry won. It all happened so fast, really – I think they were planning on a much bigger fight, but the rest of the Order got to Malfoy Manor before they had a chance, and – well… ”   
  
After a long silence, he spoke again, his voice thick and funny and slightly squeaky in a way she’d never heard before. “You’re coming out of this, Hermione. If anyone can, it’s you.”   
  
She felt him squeeze gently at her fingers, and wondered what in Merlin’s name he was talking about.   
  
_Coming out of what? _she thought, then,_ Oh… _as she remembered. The whole reason she’d been caught up in the recollection of something that happened an entire year ago was because of, well, this. Whatever the ‘this’ was that Ron was insisting she’d come out of. If only she knew…  
  
Ron continued, his voice growing tighter with the effort to sound conversational.  
  
“Mum’s gonna throw a huge bash in a few days, and – and… oh, Hermione. Please don’t do this. Please? I know I’ve been a real prat for an awfully long time, but it’s just because, well…”   
  
She heard the chair squeak and felt a weight dip the bed down slightly before Ron’s familiar smell hit her senses. Then, tenderly, a brush against her cheek.   
  
_Lips? _she wondered with a mixture of amusement and melancholy. Why was he going on so? She was fine - she just needed to rest._ Of course _, she thought with a drowsy wryness,_ he really  _had_  been a bit of a prat, right from the start…  
  
  


~oOo~

  
  
The usually dingy and dark interior of the Leaky seemed even more so that evening, despite the one pathetic strand of Christmas lights that flickered weakly over the bar. Hermione was half-surprised she was even able to get in, but then she supposed Muggle hotels were open on Christmas, so why not the ancient pub with its dozen or so rooms for rent?   
  
She straightened her shoulders and brushed the soot from her robes as she stepped out of the enormous fireplace and into the main bar area, her trunk drifting slowly behind her. Ignoring the only other patron in the place that evening, she made her way to where Tom the innkeeper was idly polishing a glass. The bald, toothless old man gave her a concerned frown as she approached.   
  
“I’d like to rent a room, please,” Hermione said before he could open his mouth.   
  
His eyes narrowed and he snapped his fingers, summoning a plain-looking young witch in a clean but faded dress and apron, who quickly led Hermione up the old wooden staircase to the second floor.   
  
Hermione was almost grateful for the dismal cloud of paranoia that had been hanging over the wizarding world for the last several months. Instead of having to endure the idle chatter that would normally have come from the transaction, she was swiftly shown to her room and left alone for the remainder of the holiday evening.  
  
Once the door to room number fifteen was shut and secured as best as she knew how, she removed her travelling cloak and draped it over the armchair by the window. Her trunk landed with a soft thud at the foot of the large, polished oak bed. With a soul-heavy sigh, she sank down onto the mattress and lay back, trying and failing to sort through her thoughts and emotions.   
  
She had lied to everyone, and she didn’t even care. Her mother and father weren’t actually home, but had traveled to Greece for the holidays. They were only somewhat disappointed she’d chosen not to join them, but they’d grown used to her occasionally opting to stay with her friends these past couple of years. Hermione had originally intended on going home, even though they weren’t there. Their house had a security system on it, however, and while she knew the alarm code, she didn’t want to risk them finding out she’d spent the holidays alone. She’d already had more than her share of being treated like a child, and while they tried valiantly to ‘let her test her wings,’ Hermione was still their only child and they had a tendency to worry.   
  
She kicked off her shoes and turned on her side. She’d have to owl Professor McGonagall in the morning and let her know she’d be arriving via floo from the Leaky at the end of the holidays, instead of the Burrow. She’d be coming from the pub even if she really had gone home, so hopefully it wouldn’t rouse any suspicions. She knew she’d picked a rather foolhardy time to exercise her independence, but really what choice did she have?  
  


~~

  
  
The last morning of winter break arose cold and sodium-pale. Hermione couldn’t shake the hollow and surreal feeling that had hovered over her since Christmas night. It reminded her of those broken times when she’d been injured and laid up in the hospital, waiting for normalcy to return. Her days at the Leaky Cauldron had been spent fluctuating between numbness and a myriad of unpleasant emotions, all underscored by a constant dread of the inevitable. Inevitably she’d have to face her friends, inevitably she’d have to answer questions, inevitably she’d have to defend her feelings, and inevitably she’d have to face Harry.   
  
Her belongings were still neatly packed in her trunk - she’d barely bothered to do more than change her clothes or brush her teeth since she’d left Grimmauld Place. It was still early when she finally decided to floo to Hogwarts. She’d considered putting it off until the last possible moment, but thought better, counting on the fact that the Weasleys, and Harry by default, were almost always caught rushing at the last minute. If she floo’ed now, she might avoid them altogether, or at least have a chance to settle in and brace herself.  
  
“Good morning, Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall greeted softly from behind her large wooden desk. She barely looked up from her parchment as Hermione exited the fireplace in her office. “I trust you had a pleasant holiday?”  
  
“Yes, thank you,” Hermione answered quietly, making her way to the door as quickly as she could while remaining inconspicuous.   
  
“Hermione,” the head of Gryffindor called out. Hermione paused mid-step but did not turn around. “Several packages arrived for you in your absence. I took the liberty of leaving them on your bed, once they were checked by security.”  
  
“Thank you, Professor,” she murmured and quickly slipped out of the older witch’s office, her trunk trailing quietly behind.  
  
Other than a pair of second-years sitting in a corner of the Gryffindor common room playing exploding snap, Hermione was the only student in the tower. With less than a glance, she headed up to the girls’ dormitory to unpack.   
  
Just as McGonagall had said, there was a small pile of packages arranged at the foot of her bed. Hermione’s mouth twisted unhappily as she realized they were Christmas presents, unable to find their way to her over the holiday. At first she ignored the pile, opting instead to completely empty out her trunk and organize her books and clothes in preparation for her classes the following day.   
  
Finally, with nothing else to do besides read or study, Hermione faced the stack of gifts with a sense of obligation tinged with dread. Thankfully, it wasn’t quite as bad as she’d expected; it seemed as though everyone had either chosen to pretend her little fiasco with Sirius had never happened, or perhaps the gifts got sent off before anyone had a chance to write anything in their notes about it. All the same, she found she couldn’t really enjoy the collection of standard presents – the joke package from the twins, a matching scarf and hat made by Mrs. Weasley, and several books seemingly picked with little thought or knowledge of her tastes or what was already in her collection. As the stack dwindled, Hermione tried to ignore the fact that there was nothing there from Sirius. With one more book-shaped package and a longer, narrower box left to go, she was doubtful.   
  
The book turned out to be a diary, from Remus, ‘and Sirius’. The corners of Hermione’s mouth fell at the sight of  _his_  name, hastily added next to Remus’, in the werewolf’s familiar scrawl. Still, it was a nice gift, and she was pleased to find a note folded up inside from her former teacher:  
  
 _Hermione –  
  
I had Bill check this for curses or any trace spells. It’s ‘clean’ – just a plain, simple journal. Although, I am sure you’ll have many ways of making it ‘snoop-proof’.   
  
I figured you probably already received plenty of new books from others to read, but perhaps you’d like to try your hand at the art of journaling. I’ve found in the past that it can be quite therapeutic, to have a place to pour your thoughts, hopes, dreams, and feelings where no one will find them.  
  
If you ever need an ear to listen, I’m here. Well, when I’m not off doing “other” business. You are well-loved and cherished by many. Remember that.  
  
Happy Christmas,  
  
Remus Lupin_  
  
The final package was another brief moment of disappointment, as it was also not from Sirius, but rather from Tonks. Hermione’s spirits were lifted, however, by the nice set of quills and inks wrapped in soft thin tissue paper. There were several fine feather-quills, but to her delight there was also a hand-blown glass quill in its own velvet pouch. She had noticed them at Scrivenshafts months ago, but never got around to trying one.   
  
Also tucked in with Tonks’ present was a note:  
  
 _Dear Hermione –  
  
My cousin is a first rate arse.   
  
Obviously you know this already.   
  
Know that I will be happy to spike his Ogdens with any number of potions or elixirs that might make his life at least a little less comfortable, if not infect his nether regions with acid-filled boils. Any suggestions or requests you have along those lines are welcome.   
  
Also know that you are always welcome to owl me if you would like to talk about what a flaming rotten prat he is. I am so sorry you got caught in the middle of his nonsense. It doesn’t help that he apparently felt such a complex prank was necessary just to get a bloke to kiss me. He certainly doesn’t deserve a brilliant and gorgeous witch like you, anyway.  
  
Hope the quills and ink will serve you well – I thought they’d make a nice compliment to Remus’ gift. Use them to write to me!  
  
Merry Christmas,  
  
Tonks   
  
P.S. – How was the Leaky?  
_  
  
Feeling somewhat cheered by the Metamorphmagus’ letter and gift, Hermione pulled a blank piece of parchment from her bag and composed a quick reply, using it as an excuse to try out the unique glass quill. She paused, curious about Tonks’ post-script, but thought better not to directly acknowledge it.   
  
 _Dear Tonks –  
  
Have you been following me? I was eyeing those glass quills months ago. Thank you for the lovely gift – it’s perfect. And thank you for your offers as well. I’m sure I’ll get over it, though. I just hope the incident didn’t do too much damage with you and Remus.   
  
Also, I’m assuming I might not be able to reach him directly, so please be sure to tell Remus I said ‘thank you’ for the diary. It’s perfect.   
  
Merry Christmas,  
  
Hermione  
_  
  
Hermione read over her reply with a hint of bitter satisfaction. She wouldn’t deny that a part of her wanted very much to cry and wail to every fellow witch she knew, but her pride was larger than that. In her days hiding out at the Leaky Cauldron, she’d come to the decision that she would not talk of Sirius again. She regarded the part of her that wanted to bitch and whinge outwardly as immature,  _‘adolescent’_. Having struggled to be stoic and composed throughout her crush with only a few little stumbles along the way, she thought it brutally unfair and inaccurate to be treated so immaturely for it in the end. She wouldn’t give Sirius the satisfaction of proving him right, even if it was just the  _idea_  of Sirius, the echo of his words that would be proved correct, should she stoop to gossiping and kvetching to other witches about him.  
  
At the same time, a petty part of her couldn’t help but subtly pass along the message that she knew that the diary was not really a joint gift from Remus ‘and Sirius.’   
  
Rolling the note up carefully and tying it with a maroon ribbon, she hurried down to the common room and through the large round door. A trip to the owlery would give her something to do, and a means of staying away from the Gryffindor tower a bit longer.   
  
The last time she’d been to the Hogwarts owlery was nearly a month previously, to notify her parents of her holiday plans, and to send an early Christmas greeting to Viktor Krum. As she picked her way up the treacherous steps of the West Tower, she made a silent promise to be a better pen pal to him. She’d been neglectful these past months, letting too much time pass between receiving his letters and replying, when he’d always been such a sweet and attentive friend. It would do her good to occupy her mind, as well.   
  
After sending off her letter, she took a brief detour to visit with Hagrid and ‘Witherwings’, then finally made her way back to Gryffindor Tower. When she turned the corner at the bottom of the staircase leading to the entrance, she froze. There, before the portrait of the fat lady, stood Harry, Ginny, and Ron, evidently unable to pass through. She heard Ron’s voice arguing with the painting.  
  
“But we’ve been away, how’re we suppose to – ?”  
  
Hermione searched around for an escape route but was spotted by Harry before she could slip off unseen.  
  
“Hermione! Did the password change?” he asked without a trace of tension.  
  
“Errr… yeah,” she answered, trudging up the staircase toward them, not meeting their eyes.   
  
“ _Abstinence,_ ” she muttered to the painting and passed through first when the door swung open. As she climbed into the room, she continued to the dormitory staircase, hoping futilely to avoid - well, everyone.  
  
“Hermione, wait…” Harry called after her. “We missed - ”  
  
Just as she turned, though, Ron stumbled through the hole and straightened up, his face flushed. “ _Sirius Black?_ ” he interrupted angrily. “Honestly, Hermione, are you really that mental? Why him?”  
  
Hermione froze and no one else spoke as Ron continued to rant. “Do you have any idea how disgusting, how… how  _wrong_  - ”  
  
“Ronald!” Ginny hissed, but was ignored.  
  
“Why  _him?_ ” he demanded again, his eyes narrowed accusingly at Hermione.  
  
Her gaze flicked between her three friends as her stomach churned unhappily. Finally, straightening her shoulders and looking directly at Ron, she shook her head. “I’m not having this conversation with you,” she said tersely. She turned toward the staircase but was stopped as Ron grabbed her arm roughly and swung her back around.  
  
“Yes, you are!” he insisted. “You have no business - ”  
  
“No,  _YOU_  have no business, Ronald!” Hermione snapped. “It’s not your business at all!”  
  
“Well it is now, now that you – you advertised it like that, you’ve  _made_  it our business!” he retorted, his face beet red and his voice increasing in volume.  
  
“No, Ron. Your  _mother,_  your brothers - ” her eyes swung around angrily to Harry, “and _your_  godfather, all made it  _everyone’s_  business with their disgusting, meddling, sick little prank,” she stormed. “It is  _not_  your business, nor is it anyone else’s, and if I find any of you have ‘made’ it anyone else’s business, I promise you I will make you regret it for the rest of your days.”  
  
Just then, the portrait hole swung open again, letting in the sound of female giggles as Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil climbed through. Hermione’s eyes narrowed dangerously and she jerked her arm away from Ron.   
  
“This topic is officially closed,” she said firmly and coldly before storming up to the safety of the dormitory, the squeals of Lavender exclaiming ‘ _Won Won!_ ’ drifting up the staircase behind her.  
  
Several minutes later, through the thick heavy curtains surrounding her bed, Hermione heard the hesitant voice of her dorm mate Parvati.   
  
“Hermione? Are you alright?” she asked quietly.   
  
They weren’t really what Hermione would have considered ‘friends,’ but rooming together for the past five and a half years did create a certain bond whether one liked it or not. She felt a twinge of appreciation for the girl’s concern but simply replied, “I just want to be left alone.”  
  
A moment later, she heard the girls’ footsteps exiting the dormitory and breathed a sigh of relief that turned into a full-on, uncensored sob. The tears made her angry, but at the moment all she could really let herself do was hide and have another good cry. She was exhausted, not having eaten or slept well since Christmas, and she didn’t really have the energy for the rage that was keeping up with her broken heart.   
  
As it was, she didn’t hear the footsteps that quietly entered the room shortly after Parvati left, and was startled when Harry’s voice called out her name in a hesitant and bewildered tone.  
  
She was so shocked by the security breach that she immediately forgot her tears and jerked the curtains of her bed open.   
  
“Harry! What in Merlin’s name – how – what do you think you’re  _doing_  up here?” she demanded, outraged that he had managed his way past the staircase to the girls’ dormitory.  
  
Harry at least had the decency to flush brightly. “I – er, Sirius – I mean, well, it’s a couple of charms, actually…” he drifted off, most certainly because now was not the time to explain to her what she immediately guessed - that Sirius had showed him most of it, even though he’d figured out the other parts on his own. Instead, he addressed the matter at hand.   
  
“Are you alright?” he asked gently, taking the chair by a nearby desk and setting it next to her bed before sitting. “Ron was – well, he’s being a real git right now about all of this. I didn’t think he’d go off like that, though.”  
  
Hermione snuffled and peered at him warily through puffy, bloodshot eyes. Of all people who really had a right to be angry with her, she supposed Harry would be, but the familiar bespectacled green eyes were only filled with concern for his friend.  
  
“You’re not – angry?” she asked cautiously.  
  
Harry tilted his head and looked at her with a small perplexed smile. “Why would I be angry with you? I mean, yeah it was weird, really weird, to see… well,  _that._  But it was just a prank that got messed up. It’s not like it was your fault.”   
  
“But it  _was_  my fault, sort of, I mean the feelings part was…” Hermione stammered, flushing with humiliation. She suddenly wanted the bed to swallow her whole.  
  
“Well it’s not like that part was a surprise,” Harry answered casually, then his eyes softened. “But that  _was_  your business, and you’d kept it to yourself. I’m sorry it got thrown out into the open like that,” he added.  
  
With a watery laugh, Hermione asked, “ _You’re_  sorry?”  
  
“Well, I’m sorry it happened to you. I mean, it’s not like it was my fault either.”  
  
“Wait – you knew? For how long?” she asked, horrified.  
  
Harry rolled his eyes teasingly. “A while, Hermione. Every time we’d go over there to research, you were… well, tittery for a day or two afterwards.” He shrugged. “I just figured it was like that year we had Lockhart for Defense.”  
  
She was certain she’d turned a shade of red that closely matched the colour of her bed curtains, when Harry gave her a sympathetic look. “Trust me, Hermione, I’ve had weirder things thrown at me than my best friend fancying my godfather. It’s not like you were going after him or anything.”  
  
Hermione made a stifled mumbling sound in agreement and they sat in awkward silence for a moment.   
  
“So…  _are_  you alright?” he asked again, hesitantly. He might never understand the fairer sex and their complex emotions, but at least he was thoughtful enough to know that what happened over Christmas meant far more to her than just an embarrassing mishap.  
  
She closed her eyes with a sigh, a small pained frown pulling her brows together. “I wish someone could just  _Obliviate_  the whole thing from my head,” she whispered pathetically. Then, with a small, bitter chuckle, she opened her eyes and added sheepishly, “But then I suppose I’d still be blissfully stupid about it. Maybe it’s a good thing this happened, so I can be good and hurt and angry enough to get over it.”  
  
Harry nodded without really understanding and said, “Well, do me a favour and just remember he’s still my godfather, you know? Anger is alright, but I can’t take sides in this.”  
  
Hermione’s eyes widened. “Oh no, Harry, I’d never ask you – just…” She sighed heavily. “Can we just not talk about this… _ever_?” she asked weakly.  
  
With a chuckle, he answered, “It’s a deal.”  
  
They were both startled by a sharp feminine gasp at the door. Hermione smirked as she noticed an immediate red flush on Harry’s face as they turned to see Ginny standing in the doorway.   
  
“Harry? How - ?” The redhead began, her face betraying several reactions at once.  
  
“Hi, Ginny - ?” Hermione greeted, pointedly interrupting the girl’s questioning.   
  
Hazel eyes flicked away from Harry and softened with sympathy and relief before she practically flung herself onto Hermione’s bed, throwing her arms around her friend’s neck.   
  
“Er – I’ll just… be down in the common room,” Harry excused himself, clearly not wishing to sit in on what was likely going to be a ‘girl moment’.   
  
“Are you alright?” the Weasley witch quietly fussed, smoothing Hermione’s bushy mass of hair from her face. “Mum feels absolutely horrible about what happened, Fred and George too. I can’t believe what a prat Ron is being, though. Well, I can, because he’s been sulking about it - ”  
  
“Ginny,” Hermione interrupted softly, “I just - really don’t want to talk about it…”  
  
“Oh!” The girl’s eyes widened apologetically. “I – of course, just… If you ever  _want_  to, I mean…” She grimaced, floundering for words. “We – we were going to head to the Great Hall. Dinner’s up soon. Are you coming?”  
  
At Hermione’s pained smile and small shake of the head, Ginny nodded in understanding. “I’ll bring back some food, then.” She stood to leave, but paused and turned at the door.   
  
“Please don’t let Ron push you away from the rest of us. He’s just being a jealous, idiotic arse. I’ve already told him if he breathes a word of this to anyone, I’ll dig up the pictures of when he was a baby. Mum really wanted a girl after having five boys, so when Ron came along she used to dress him up in girls’ clothes. A simple copying spell and the whole school can see what a precious little witchlet he was,” she said with a smug little grin, before leaving Hermione to herself again.  
  



	3. A Little Help From Friends

  
  
_“How long was she…”  
  
“Well, it was well after dark when we got there. Harry and Ron said it was mid-day when they were captured. They were taken to the cellar shortly after, and that’s when that… that bitch started…” Sirius’ voice shook with rage and heartache.  
  
“Language, Pads – she might hear you,” Remus chided softly.  
  
“She’s heard me use worse.” His attempt at humor was lost in the ragged delivery. “I only just found her, Moony…” he whispered brokenly. “I wasted so much fucking time being an arse, and just when I finally…”   
  
“You can’t think like that, Sirius. They don’t know for certain what’s wrong. Poppy said everything else is fine, her vitals are normal, no wounds or anything. She needs you to be strong, Padfoot.”  
  
“Sirius?” Harry’s voice came hesitantly from somewhere past her feet.   
  
More shuffling, then the squeak of the chair near her bed again. It was becoming such a regular sound, Hermione couldn’t decide whether she liked it or hated it. By itself it was annoying, but it was always followed by the voice of a loved one. Then again, the voices always sounded so sad…  
  
“Hey, Hermione,” Harry said gently, taking her hand. “I guess you’ve probably already heard by now about how we won.” She could hear him inhale shakily. “I am so sorry, Hermione. This is all my fault. One stupid fuck-up… and now look.” She felt his other hand cover hers now, holding tightly. “I know what just a few minutes of that felt like. I don’t know how you, I mean for that long… But I guess if anyone could…”   
  
A gentle tapping sound followed by Ginny’s voice softly calling Harry’s name interrupted the broken sentences that Hermione was piecing together.   
  
_Hours, _she thought, horrified, as she realized they were talking about her torture. She remembered what had happened to Neville’s parents, what Bellatrix said to her about ‘snuffing her brain.’ In a surge of terror, she tried to flail, to thrash, scream, anything that might register to her body.  
  
_ No. Don’t panic, _she reasoned. She was still lucid. She wasn’t insane, she was just… locked, somehow. All she had to do was find the key, find the doorway out. But when she “looked” around, all she found were memories, streams of memories broken up by these increasingly heartbreaking little visits.  
  
“Can I join you?” Ginny asked softly, followed by the metallic scraping sound of another chair being pulled over.   
  
“This is my fault, Gin,” Harry whispered, and his hands left Hermione’s.   
  
“Shhh,” Ginny crooned, chair legs squeaking slightly. Hermione could almost see the redhead holding her friend and comforting him, and it warmed her. “You know she’d be the first to tell you off for such poor bedside manners,” she teasingly admonished. “It’s no good to sit here and moan over what’s already happened, Harry. Do you honestly think she’s blaming you for what Bellatrix did to her?”   
  
At his silent answer, she continued warmly, “I think Sirius could stand some company. She’s not going to get any worse, Madam Pomfrey promised, so why don’t you go pull yourself together and I’ll keep our girl company for a bit?”  
  
“Thanks, Ginny,” Harry whispered, followed by chair legs bitching and squeaking again as the youngest Weasley took over his post.  
  
“Boys,” she chuckled, just as casually as if they were sitting in the Gryffindor common room. “You’ll have to forgive everyone, Hermione. You’ve been out for a while, and they’re all acting as though you’re permanently broken.”   
  
Hermione felt a tremendous wave of affection for the red-haired witch, then chuckled inwardly as she felt yet another hand squeeze her own.   
  
“I think we know better, though, don’t we?” Ginny murmured. “You wouldn’t dare let that bitch destroy you now, would you? Not when Sirius has just finally come to his senses and pulled his head out of his arse. I never pushed you to talk about it, but I do know how much he must have hurt you. And I was so proud of how you turned yourself around from it…”  
  
It had taken a long time for Hermione to see what Ginny and the others saw, what Ginny meant now when she said ‘how you turned yourself around’. While she and Sirius had started off rather miserably, she supposed in hindsight it was ultimately a good thing. Well, ‘good’ in the sense that any catalyst for positive change could be called ‘good’…_  
  


~oOo~

  
  
Hermione stared unhappily into the full-length mirror that occupied a corner of the sixth-year girls’ dormitory. It had been weeks since ‘the fiasco’, as she’d been calling it in her head. Though she  _thought_  she’d made great strides in the past year with her appearance, looking at herself now she couldn’t say she blamed Sirius one bit for thinking of her as a silly little adolescent.   
  
Even with liberal applications of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion, her bushy mane would just never lay right. She always seemed to use either not enough or too much of the slick goop, and either way it just seemed to make the mousy brown colour of her hair look even more dull and mousy. Any time she applied makeup, she always felt - well,  _made up_ … painted, fake. Her robes fit her like a disaster, she was shaped like a thick stick, her breasts were small, her skin was pasty, and she’d give almost anything to be able to change the muddy brown colour of her eyes.  
  
It didn’t help that all of the other girls around her seemed to be blossoming into more mature and prettier versions of themselves. Parvati and Padma were blessed with naturally exotic looks, which were always accentuated by pretty little ethnic accessories and hairstyles. Ginny seemed to be growing more and more radiant each day, her figure filling out into an athletic curviness that made every witch in her year envious, and her auburn tresses complimented her delicately freckled complexion perfectly, although Hermione had a suspicion that at least part of Ginny’s ‘radiance’ was due to Harry’s sudden and not-so-subtle interest in the redhead. Luna appeared perfectly daft to most people, but it always seemed to lend an ethereal touch to her delicate faerie-like features, and then there was Lavender, who seemed to be the queen of them all.   
  
Of course, having Gryffindor’s star Quidditch Keeper wrapped around her finger at all times undoubtedly helped fortify the already overflowing confidence of Lavender Brown. But Hermione had been watching her carefully for some time now, studying her to find out what made her so attractive to all the boys. Amongst the female population of Hogwarts, there had always been a fairly reliable stream of unflattering whispers about the girl with the eyes that matched her name. And while Hermione prided herself on never participating in the gossip about Lavender’s supposed licentiousness, she did share a dorm with her, so she did hear… _things_.   
  
Lavender and Parvati either didn’t care whether or not Hermione listened in on their gabbling about boys, or they just assumed that their bookish roommate had so little interest that she was completely tuning them out. But what came through the late night ‘girl talks’ between the two friends was that the gossip was just that – gossip. Lavender was a first-class flirt, and knew how to play the opposite sex for just about anything she could want, all without giving hardly anything up. This had secretly fascinated Hermione in the past, although she’d refuse to admit to anyone that she had a remote interest in something so superficial and frivolous.  
  
Now, however, she watched Lavender with a growing sense of envy. Not for what she had with Ron, but for the way she carried herself, the way she took care of herself and presented herself. Hermione couldn’t help but feel like if she could just grasp a little bit of the confidence and style that Lavender seemed to just exude naturally, she might have a hope of moving on from feeling like such a dejected ugly duckling.   
  
It was becoming a slightly unhealthy fixation, and Hermione knew it, but she rationalized to herself that it was probably better to fixate on possible tips she might pick up from her dorm mate, than obsessing over an older wizard who found her utterly repulsive and apparently idiotic.  
  
“Alright, Granger, what did you want?” Lavender’s voice rang impatiently from the doorway of the room, adding in a warning tone, “I’m not giving him up…”  
  
“…‘Giving him up’?” Hermione repeated, confused.  
  
“ _Ronald!_ ” the raven-haired witch huffed. “If that’s why you called me away from him - ”  
  
“What? No!” Hermione turned from the mirror with a perplexed frown on her face. “Why would I… this has nothing to do with Ron.”  
  
“Then what?” Lavender snapped, her hands resting on her hips. There was only a half hour left until curfew and she clearly didn’t appreciate wasting precious snogging time on her nerdy roommate.  
  
“I…” Hermione blushed furiously, regretting this incredibly stupid idea and mentally scurrying for some made-up excuse or another. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of her awful reflection again, however, and it spurred her forward. “Well, I know we’re not really  _friends_ , but I -- I was hoping, I mean, I wanted to ask you for your help…”  
  
Perfectly-shaped eyebrows shot up in incredulity. “My help?” Violet coloured eyes narrowed skeptically. “What could  _I_  possibly do to help the Amazing Hermione Granger?” She smirked and gave Hermione a pointed once-over before adding meanly, “Apart from the obvious, of course.”  
  
Hermione took a sharp breath and cringed slightly. She deserved that, really. She knew she was an obnoxious know-it-all, and she even had enough self-knowledge to know why. She was taking a leap of faith, however, that despite her own shortcomings, Lavender wouldn’t be a  _complete_  bitch…  
  
“Oh…” Lavender’s eyes widened as she realized that ‘the obvious’ was exactly what was being asked of her. “Oh,” she repeated, softer this time, seeing the vulnerable look on Hermione’s face. “Really, Granger?”  
  
Hermione sighed miserably. “Look, I’ll – I’ll help you with whatever studies you need, I might even be able to pay you… I just - well,  _look_  at me.” She gestured hopelessly to ‘the obvious’ – her entire body, her clothes and hair…  
  
Lavender tilted her head and eyed Hermione for a moment, considering. “Who is he?” she asked suddenly.  
  
“Pardon?”   
  
Waving a manicured hand, she came closer, still assessing the brainy witch. “It’s always about a wizard… or witch, although I don’t take you for that type. You and I both know you’re swallowing a lot of pride here, Hermione, so who is he? Whose attention are you trying to capture?”  
  
Hermione looked down, frowning unhappily. “It’s really no one,” she muttered.   
  
“There’s no one whose eye you’re trying to catch?” Lavender pressed, a skeptical smile curving her lips. “No man’s heart you’re wanting to win?”  
  
“He won’t - ” Hermione’s words faltered briefly. “No,” she said with finality. “Not anymore. Look, I just… What I need is to move on, to feel better, to not feel so…” She shrugged hopelessly, struggling to explain.   
  
Lavender sighed. “I see. Well I suppose that’s more sincere than wanting a makeover just so a boy will notice you. Can you at least tell me what house he was in?” she persisted, now circling Hermione in scrutiny.   
  
“What? No… I mean, he’s not a student here…”  
  
Lavender stopped in front of Hermione, raising an eyebrow. “Surely this isn’t about Krum?” she asked with dripping curiosity. “I would have thought you had that one bagged already.”  
  
“Of course not! Viktor and I haven’t even been - ” Hermione stopped herself and blushed, straightening her shoulders defensively. “Why do you need to know, anyway?”  
  
“Well I’m curious, of course,” Lavender smiled distractedly, fingering Hermione’s bushy hair now. “But I also need to know what I’m up against.  _If_  I decide to help you,” she added. “I mean, if it was, say, Draco Malfoy, then we’d have to take a different approach than if it was, oh… let’s say Michael Corner.”  
  
“Draco Malf - ” Hermione practically choked, then shrugged away from Lavender’s hands, somewhat outraged. “It  _isn’t_  a student, and this is just – oh this is rubbish. I don’t know why I ever thought - ”  
  
“Oh, come on, Granger,” Lavender chuckled. “I didn’t mean it like that. Of course I’ll help you – I’ve been dying to do something with this mess you call a hairstyle for years, for starters.”  
  
“You’ll – you’ll help me?”   
  
“Sure,” Lavender’s smile was wide and warm, and there was something like kinship in her eyes before they hardened slightly. “With one condition, of course – Ron Weasley is mine.”  
  
Hermione shook head with an amused grimace. “That’s really not a problem, Lavender.”  
  
“Promise.”  
  
“I promise!” she insisted with a laugh, then frowned. “Why would you think…Ron’s like my brother.”  
  
“Come here into the light, and let’s have a look at you.” The taller witch motioned, raising the level of the lamps with a wave of her wand. She circled Hermione a couple of times, muttering under her breath and rubbing her chin in concentration. As she studied her new project, Lavender finally answered. “Well, everyone’s been placing wagers for the last three years on which one you’ll end up with, if not both.”  
  
It took Hermione a moment to decipher Lavender’s meaning, before flushing a deep red. “WHAT?!” she exclaimed.   
  
Suddenly, with an intricate wave of a wand and a silent command, Hermione felt the air shift around her and settle into what felt like a vague sort of bubble. She gave an alarming look at the witch who’d cast Merlin only knew what spell, but Lavender simply stood back, her arms folded contemplatively as she pondered her work. Shaking her head in dissatisfaction, she frowned and hummed and waved her wand again.   
  
“Lavender - ?” Hermione inquired in a tense voice.  
  
“Let me concentrate, Hermione,” she admonished before flicking her wand again, this time at specific points around Hermione’s head. After three more rounds of spell casting and critical looks, Lavender finally appeared satisfied and motioned Hermione to the mirror.   
  
They were interrupted, however, by a small gasp from the doorway.   
  
“ _Hermione?_ ” Parvati asked in an awestruck tone, casting an inquiring look between the two witches. Something in Lavender’s expression must have communicated what was going on, because the olive-skinned girl’s eyes narrowed suddenly. “All this time and you would never do  _me,_ ” she accused her friend playfully.  
  
“Yes, well, you don’t exactly need it, what with the whole exotic thing you’ve got going on there,” Lavender quipped before nudging Hermione. “Go on, have a look.”  
  
For a split second, Hermione couldn’t believe it was really her. Then, her heart sank as she realized it  _wasn’t_  really her, but an intricate glamour Lavender had cast over her, turning her mane of bushy hair into shiny, glossy, bouncy curls, her complexion a glowing porcelain. Her eyes looked bigger and brighter, her robes fit and flattered a curvy, feminine shape… overall the transformation would have been remarkable if it was real.  
  
“Oh…” she said wistfully, unable to keep the note of sadness from her voice.  
  
“You don’t like it?” Parvati asked in disbelief.  
  
“Well, it’s – it’s amazing, but I… well, I was hoping for a real change,” Hermione answered sheepishly. Her eyes flicked to Lavender’s in the reflection of the mirror, “It’s remarkable glamour work, really,” she added apologetically. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it, but - ”  
  
Both girls giggled suddenly.   
  
“Stupid,” Lavender chided, enjoying the opportunity to use the word on the class genius. “It’s just a blueprint for the finished product. I wouldn’t send you out there with such a dramatic change all at once anyway, but we’re not going to  _glamour_  you.”  
  
“But, this isn’t…  _me_ ,” Hermione argued, motioning to her figure.  
  
With a wave of her wand, the glamour was gone, and the real Hermione stared back from the mirror unhappily. Lavender snapped her fingers sharply. “Take them off,” she commanded. When Hermione just gave her a bewildered look, she huffed, “Your  _robes_. And don’t look at me like that – it’s not as if we haven’t all seen each other completely starkers. I need to measure you.”  
  
Parvati hopped onto her bed and folded her legs up underneath her with an excited smile.  
  
As a tape measure flew around various body parts, Lavender explained in a patronizing tone, “That  _was_  you. I believe in working with what you’ve got. And you’ve ‘got’ plenty, Granger. You just need… a lot of work. These robes are just horrible, and your bras are all wrong, by the way. And this - ” She paused and fingered the waistband of plain white cotton, wrinkling her nose distastefully. “ _Really_ , Hermione. It’s no wonder you feel badly about yourself. You hide yourself in all this plainness – how do you expect to look good when you do nothing to appreciate or compliment what you’ve got?   
  
“Now of course the alterations will be subtle – can’t have you suddenly looking like me, can we? But we’ll start with the clothes first, then ease slowly into the rest. It won’t do to have a major transformation all in one go. You’ll never know what to do with all of the attention and you’ll just look like you’re ‘trying’ instead of really improving your appearance. Oh, and this hair. Have you ever even  _had_  a proper haircut?”   
  
Hermione blushed at the sudden barrage of criticism and fussing. “Well, I - ”  
  
“No matter…” Lavender was clearly on a roll now. “First thing, though – that junk you’re putting in it is only making it worse, you know. You can borrow some of what I’ve got for now until we figure out the right potions for your hair type. No more Muggle shampoos and conditioners. And honestly, you’d think with your marks in Potions, you’d have abandoned that Sleekeazy nonsense by now,” she tutted.   
  
“Now, Madam Malkins isn’t the worst clothier, but she’s far too flighty to get undergarments right.” Lavender handed Hermione a small slip of paper with a set of numbers on it. “These are your measurements. You don’t just go in to some place and pull a 32C off the rack.” She rifled through the dresser by her bed and found a lingerie catalogue not unlike one she’d accidentally found in Fred and George’s old room at the Burrow. Before handing it to Hermione, she paused.   
  
“If I’m going to help you, Granger, I expect your full cooperation on this. That means no turning up your nose at my ideas, and it means trusting my judgment. You’re either in or you’re not.”  
  
Parvati was a little less militant. “Caring about your appearance doesn’t mean giving up brain cells, Hermione. There is such a thing as beauty  _and_  looks, you know.” No one needed to point out that her own twin, a bright Ravenclaw with high marks in every class, served as a perfect example.  
  
 _Merlin,_  Hermione thought defensively.  _They act as though I haven’t put forth_  any  _effort to look nice at all…_  
  
“Well?” Lavender pressed. “Because this will take work on your part, right down to buying some decent under-things for yourself.”  
  
“No one’s going to see my knickers,” Hermione retorted.  
  
“No one sees mine, either!” Lavender said hotly. “That’s not the point – the point is that beauty and confidence starts on the inside, and if you’re walking around in frumpy grandmother knickers, you can’t possibly expect to feel like a woman.”  
  
Hermione bit back an exasperated sigh and held out her hand for the catalogue. “Fine. I’m in.”  
  


~oOo~

  
  
_Hermione was drawn back to the casual chatter of Ginny’s voice. It cheered her up greatly to have at least one person visiting her who didn’t speak as if she were on her deathbed.  
  
“Ginny, Mum wants to see you. George is awake now, and she’s fussing.”   
  
Given that the familiar voice was talking about ‘George’, it was obviously Fred who was calling to his sister from what Hermione surmised was the doorway of the room where she was being kept.   
  
“What about you?” Ginny asked as she rose from the squeaky chair.  
  
“Me? What would I want to talk to that git for when I’ve got a beautiful unconscious witch to whisper lurid things to?” Fred teased. “You go on, I’ll keep her company for a bit.”  
  
“Where’s Sirius?” she asked suddenly from the doorway.  
  
“He was calming down Harry, and then Krum came along...”  
  
“Oh, no…”  
  
“Nah, it’s alright. Remus was there, and they hardly exchanged insults. Wouldn’t surprise me if they were drinking together by the end of the week.”  
  
Ginny hummed a little, and the subtle click of her shoes indicated her exit.  
  
Instead of sitting in the metal chair, Hermione felt the bed dip beneath Fred’s weight as he perched himself on the edge next to her. Fingers gently smoothed a bit of hair back from her forehead, and for the longest time he didn’t say anything.   
  
“If you’re expecting another apology, Granger, you won’t get it from me,” he finally said quietly. “Hell, I can’t even honestly say I’m sorry about the hat trick anymore. If anything, I’m grateful. Not even sorry we scared you that day last spring either, not really. The look on your face was one I’ll never forget.”  
  
_Here we go again, _Hermione thought irritably. George was the one, she knew, who had actually felt any remorse for their stupid prank. Fred was always –  
  
“You were so angry… you were bloody gorgeous, you know,” he said earnestly, interrupting her thoughts with a jolt.   
  
“I mean, not that we’d ever – well, you know. But you’ve really grown into one hell of a woman, Hermione. You know, George and I always did like you, even when you were a frizzy-haired little first year. Between you and me, I think George had a bit of a…” His words faded into a sigh. “Ah, who the hell am I kidding. We both agreed that if things didn’t work out with you and Sirius, we’d… well.”   
  
Oh, _Merlin, _Hermione rolled her eyes inwardly._ What next? _she wondered.  
  
Suddenly he snorted, laughing at his own joke. “I’m kidding, Granger. Mostly. Well, about that last part, at least. George was really pretty torn up over how Sirius treated you at Christmas that year. More than I think was necessary, because hey – what doesn’t kill you…oh.” He stopped suddenly, as if realizing some horrible gaffe.   
  
“Well the thing is, I’m not sorry,” he repeated. “After all was said and done, that little hat and Sirius’ fuck-up brought us all together, and I wouldn’t take it back for anything. I’m glad you let us buy you a drink that day, and the days afterward…”_  
  


~oOo~

  
  
Classes were back in session full swing. Between studying for her N.E.W.T.s, worrying over Horcruxes, Apparition lessons, and the new demands of ‘nurturing her femininity’ as Lavender called it, there was thankfully little time for Hermione to mope over Sirius and their kiss.   
  
Over the course of January, several packages arrived from Mrs. Weasley as well as the twins - painfully obvious gestures of apology. Mrs. Weasley was easy enough to handle with one well-written letter explaining that it really wasn’t a big deal, and that she’d rather just move forward. Fred and George, however, seemed unconvinced, as was evidenced by the growing collection of Patented Daydream Charms they’d sent her almost weekly.   
  
Those remained untouched in her trunk, however. Hermione didn’t really completely forgive any of them for their meddling. And, while the Daydream Charms  _were_  quite impressive magic, she didn’t approve of voluntarily blowing away half-hour increments of her days even if she had the time, which she didn’t. At least, that’s what she told herself, although she secretly worried that if she tried one it would only remind her more of Sirius.  
  
While she stayed busy enough to keep her mind off of him for the most part, she couldn’t completely rid herself of thoughts of him. And when he did come to mind, it served as a reminder that those rather unpleasant feelings were hardly diminishing at all. Hermione couldn’t help but think if this was what ‘in love’ was, she’d happily die a lonely old spinster.  
  
Despite Sirius’ hurtful words and the humiliation she’d suffered, however, his was the face that still flickered behind her eyelids when she lay in her bed at night, curtains closed, hands traveling an exploratory path over her own body. She struggled with this for weeks and at one point tried to altogether abandon the build of warm tension and the heated rush of relief that had become an habitual practice in the past year.   
  
However, when her new undergarments arrived, lacy and feminine and a great deal scanter than anything she’d worn before, the scandalous and decadent feeling of her hidden sexuality won out. With a frustrated and resigned sigh, she gave over to the images that were purely her own, made even more vivid by the recollection of one kiss that, while it was only a product of a charm, was no less soul-scorching.   
  
Afterwards, she always felt foolish and somewhat ashamed of herself for giving in to feelings that would never be returned, but she found comfort in the knowledge that it was only a sexual fantasy. She’d even read in  _The Joy of Sex_  that it wasn’t unusual for married couples to have fantasies about other people outside their marriage. The mind was a complex thing, and Hermione supposed that even in that scenario, as long as one never acted upon their fantasies, it was hardly the worst thing in the world.  
  
As for her anger over the Shield Hat, it wasn’t until Ron’s birthday on the first of March that Hermione had to actually face Fred, George, Molly, and even Bill, but any and all bad feelings were immediately forgotten in light of the reason for their visit to Hogwarts. A poisoned bottle of mead had found its way into Professor Slughorn’s possession, and somehow Ron had been its innocent victim. While she’d never say she was grateful for the near-loss of one of her best friends, the incident did put things into perspective, and any animosity she’d felt towards Ron and his family was quickly banished.  
  
Of course, a couple of weeks later, she discovered that  _some_  were not quite as willing to drop the issue entirely.   
  
She and Ron had gone with the rest of the eligible students to Hogsmeade for a last day of Apparition lessons before their tests. After having Apparated successfully to the front of Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop, she was waiting for Ron to show up. When he didn’t, Hermione headed back in the direction of their starting point, unaware she was being followed.   
  
Just as she came to the corner at the rear of Scrivenshafts, she was hit by two spells at once – a  _Silencio_  and a Body Bind. Furious and scared, she began to fall helplessly to the ground, but was caught by a pair of arms. Her eyes widened as she watched two cloaked figures hoist her up before carrying her back behind the buildings lining the main street of Hogsmeade. Moving stealthily, they didn’t stop until they reached the rear entrance of the vacant building that was formerly Zonko’s Joke Shop.   
  
Hermione heard the jingle of keys, then the click of a charmed anti- _Alohamora_  lock, then finally the creak and groan of ancient hinges as the heavy wooden door was swung open. Fear began to make way for panic and full-on terror as she realized just how much danger she was in. Thinking quickly, she tried to recall the layout of the building based on what she remembered of Zonko’s, cursing herself for not taking more of an interest in the joke shop before.   
  
She felt herself being carefully set down on the floor before a  _Lumos_  was silently cast by her captors. All she was able to see at that point were the exposed beams of the empty building until two pairs of legs flanked her and the hooded figures came into her line of sight, revealing identical shocks of ginger hair peeking out from their heavy dark cloaks.   
  
A wave of fury mixed with profound relief swept through Hermione as Fred and George Weasley revealed themselves. Her anger was put on hold, however, as she noticed their expressions.   
  
“We’re really sorry we had to scare you, Hermione - ” one voice began. Was it Fred or George? The blue eyes were gentle and held a sincerity that surprised her.  
  
“-speak for yourself, brother,” the other one interjected, revealing himself as Fred, the ‘less sensitive of the two’ according to their sister. “We wouldn’t have  _had_  to scare you if you’d just responded to our packages,” he continued with a smirk.  
  
“The point is,” George continued in a rush, “we wanted to make it up to you,”  
  
“-the whole Christmas thing,”  
  
“-but we weren’t exactly sure how. Then, at Ron’s birthday, we saw how much you’d… changed,”  
  
“-and Merlin how you’ve changed,” Fred added with look of blatant admiration, eliciting a blush from Hermione’s immobile cheeks.  
  
“-so we asked our dear sister what was up.”  
  
 _Ginny…_  Hermione growled silently.  _So much for getting over their meddling…_  she thought.  
  
“Which we should have done from the start, really,” George raised an eyebrow at Fred.  
  
“She really is the sharpest in our bunch,” Fred concurred.   
  
“She  _is_  the one who pointed out to us just how brutal that whole mess was on you,” George added, flushing regretfully. “You see, we were hoping you’d appreciate our little gifts as a means of distracting yourself from, well… you know,”   
  
“… ‘Unpleasant memories’,” Fred finished with a sheepish quirk to his lips. “But according to our little sister, daydreams and distractions aren’t the same as ‘moving forward’, as you so nicely put it to Mum. Gin figured that’s what this new look was about, too, and pointed out that you were never one for escapism,” he quoted, adding wryly, “Although I still maintain that it’s a perfectly acceptable form of recreation…”  
  
“…so that killed that idea, but we still wanted to make it up to you, we just couldn’t figure out how.”  
  
“We always did like you, Granger, even if you always were a swotty little thing…”  
  
“Well, you still are. Which is what got us to thinking…”  
  
“…while you’re letting down your hair on the outside,” Fred gave one of her now non-bushy, shiny brown curls an amused tug.  
  
“Maybe we could teach you how to lighten up a bit on the inside,” George smiled affectionately. “It’s not our usual fare…”  
  
“Yeah, not as flashy or clever as love potions or patented daydreams,” Fred added.  
  
“But maybe if you’d spend some time with members of the opposite sex-” George bit his lip before grinning widely.  
  
“-without feeling like you have to mouth off and prove something…” Fred quirked an eyebrow.  
  
“…because we already know how smart you are, Granger. You really don’t have to prove anything to us.”  
  
“What my dear brother is saying,” Fred added, “Is that maybe you could just… come see us from time to time, especially now that we’ve bought this place…” He gestured around to the empty shop.  
  
“Maybe have a drink or two with us now and again,” George shrugged casually.  
  
“…starting with today.” Fred grinned as he pulled a bottle of Ogden’s finest from the inside pocket of his cloak, then conjured three glass tumblers. “What d’you say, Granger?”  
  
Both twins gave Hermione an expectant look before bursting out in laughter as they realized her silence was not due to considering their offer, but because she was still frozen helpless in a full body-bind.   
  
Fred motioned a pause to George, who was just about to mutter the countercharm. “Better take this from her, just in case,” he warned, gently sliding Hermione’s wand from her pocket.   
  
As soon as she was free from the body-bind, Hermione scurried to her feet, refusing their offered hands.   
  
“Are you bloody  _MAD_?” she stormed. “We’re in the middle of a war here, and you two decide it’s perfectly acceptable to kidnap a girl right off the streets of Hogsmeade? And what - because you want to buy her a  _drink?_  What if someone had seen you, in those – those cloaks, carrying a body behind a building like that? You could have been arrested, or…killed!”   
  
At this, Fred and George looked at each other in confusion. Since when was Hermione Granger ever concerned for their welfare, especially when she was the one being kidnapped?  
  
“The offer is sweet, boys, but Ron’s probably frantic by now, and you’ll have half the school wondering where I am,” she added irritably, brushing the dust off her robes.   
  
“Oh, erm – we already got Lavender to tell Ron you’d gone back to the school without them,” Fred answered slowly, still taken aback by Hermione’s reaction. He shrugged. “And since we know most of the secret passageways in and out of the school, we figured we’d just take you back when you were ready…”  
  
“Of course, if you want, we can take you now,” George mumbled contritely. “We just thought…”  
  
For once they were silent, George looking at the floor, while Fred watched Hermione’s expression carefully.   
  
She regarded them for a moment. It really probably was a good thing they’d kept her silenced throughout their little proposition, or she would never have considered taking them seriously. As she studied them now, however - George with his remorseful gaze trained on the floor, and Fred, who braved her eyes directly without a trace of his usual teasing or humour, Hermione realized that perhaps she wasn’t the only person who had layers to them that no one else ever saw.   
  
As much as she loved pursuing knowledge and learning everything she could, her reputation for being a, well just like they’d said – a  _swot_ , always seemed to overshadow the fact that she did have other facets to her personality. Most of the time she hoarded those aspects away, holding them like sly little secrets against everyone’s assumptions about her. Like the fact that she loved old school punk rock just as much as Mozart and Beethoven, and when she went home for the holidays, she frequently used the time to catch up on Muggle kung fu movies and frivolous romance novels. And how secretly, she really did laugh at many of the twins’ pranks and jokes, but since they were usually executed while breaking several of the school rules, she couldn’t let herself openly enjoy them.  
  
The sincerity in their identical blue eyes as they’d spoken to her made Hermione wonder – could it be that Fred and George Weasley had more to them than just mischief making and smart assed remarks? Why not?  
  
Finally coming to a decision, Hermione spoke. “May I have my wand back, please?” she asked quietly.  
  
“Oh,” Fred blinked, remembering. “Er, sure…” he said, handing over the length of vine wood.  
  
“Thank you,” she said, sliding it back into the pocket of her robes. “ _Just_  drinks, then?”   
  



	4. Viktor

  
  
_It was difficult to tell sometimes whether she was asleep or merely waiting. Hermione couldn’t help but feel like there was something she was forgetting, some simple bit of information or a memory that would remind her, and she’d think, “Oh! Of course!” and find her way out of this sea of unconsciousness.  
  
Of course, she wondered if “unconsciousness” was even an apt term, as she _felt _conscious, she just couldn’t manage to wake her own body up. She wondered if she was in coma, but she had no knowledge of any firsthand accounts of people who had been in comas before.  
  
There were long stretches of quiet – at least they felt long – where no one was talking to her, and she’d tire of playing back through memories… she wasn’t asleep, and at those times she could feel a large, warm hand holding her own. She knew beyond a doubt it was Sirius’ hand - she could even almost smell him, but where everyone else who visited felt the need to chatter at her, he remained silent, only occasionally tracing her face with his fingers, and sometimes, very faintly, she could hear him breathe endearments and words of love to her, in less than a whisper. It was so soothing, yet filled her with a soul-deep longing and desperation to wake her body.  
  
It was during one such time that the silence was broken by a metallic crashing sound, followed by a tripping and scuttling of feet and a string of curses in a low feminine voice.   
  
_Tonks. _Hermione smiled inwardly.  
  
“Wotcher, Sirius, how is she?”   
  
“Same,” he replied, and Hermione felt her heart sigh hungrily for the sound of his voice. She really wished he’d speak to her…  
  
A chair was drawn up on her other side and she could hear Tonks settle herself in.   
  
“You’re getting bigger, cousin,” Sirius said with a tired wryness.  
  
Tonks didn’t reply, but Hermione imagined she probably stuck out her tongue or made a face in response. After a moment, however, she gave a sad little chuckle.   
  
“She’s so pretty, you know?” she said quietly. “I remember when you first finally saw it…”  
  
“Oh?” Sirius challenged.   
  
“Oh, you know what I’m talking about. You were so jealous, and you didn’t even know it yourself.” When she was met with silence, Tonks continued teasingly, “Bill and Fleur’s wedding - ?”  
  
An indignant snort came from the wizard, but Hermione’s interest was piqued. She had never heard this story. She remembered the wedding well enough - it was only a few months after Dumbledore’s death. It had been a difficult summer between that, the knowledge that she wouldn’t be returning to Hogwarts, and having to modify her parents’ memories and send them to Australia.  
  
It certainly didn’t help matters that not being in school meant working more closely with the Order, which meant working more closely with Sirius, whom she had discovered she was not even remotely ‘over’. _  
  


~oOo~

  
  
Hermione stood in a rare secluded spot of shade a good distance from the giant white marquee where the wedding would take place. It was sweltering hot, and for all the effort she’d put into her appearance, all she wanted to do was go back inside and sit in a cool bath. Alone. Away from everyone. And most importantly, far from where she might have to see or be seen by  _him._    
  
She’d done such a good job, she thought, of keeping her distance, of holding up a carefully erected wall between herself and Sirius. Even when he appeared on her parents’ doorstep with the absolute worst timing in the world, she’d only let herself crumble a tiny bit.   
  
She’d just sent her mother and father away to Australia, with no idea that they even had a daughter, and though she knew it was for their protection, it was utterly devastating to have them look at her and see a stranger. Less than an hour after returning to their empty house, Sirius had rung the doorbell. He’d come to ask for her help in fetching Harry from the Dursley’s, and wound up holding her while she sobbed in his arms. It honestly could have been anyone and she might have reacted the same way to their questions. She was loathe to ever let Sirius Black see her vulnerabilities again, though.   
  
“Alright, Granger?”   
  
Hermione smiled gratefully at the sound of Fred’s voice from behind her. She knew now that it was Fred, because George had taken to calling her ‘Mione,’ and for some very strange, unknown reason she actually allowed it, even though the abbreviated form of her name was absolutely off-limits to anyone else. Fred had always called her by her surname, however now it had a more affectionate feel   
  
“Thanks,” she murmured, accepting the chilled glass of punch from him. Both knew she was thanking him for more than the cold beverage, however.  
  
 _This is going to be a long, long wedding,_  she lamented to herself. Her eyes seemed to find  _him_  wherever he was.   
  
 _Sirius._    
  
Now he was standing by the garden with Remus and Tonks, and she took in the perfect profile of his face: his strong chiseled jaw, his black hair pulled back with a thin silk ribbon at the nape of his neck, not exactly a ponytail anymore as it really only just brushed his shoulders. A few stray locks wouldn’t be held in place, and fell flawlessly around his face.  _Dress robes…_  she thought hopelessly before chastising herself. Plenty of perfectly average looking wizards looked utterly delicious in well-tailored dress robes, and Sirius Black just happened to be one of them. He certainly had the galleons to afford a perfect fit, and naturally that would make any wizard’s physique look, well…   
  
As if hearing her miserably smitten train of thought, Fred chuckled and grabbed Hermione’s elbow. “C’mon,” he said with a knowing smirk. “I have a surprise for you.”  
  
Hermione nodded and took a sip of her punch, squeaking slightly at the unexpected burn.  
  
“ _That_ ,” Fred nodded. “is  _not_  the surprise. Let’s just call that a bit of liquid bravery, hmm?” he clarified before leading her over to where George, Ron, and Harry were standing near the entrance to the marquee.   
  
Another wizard was with them – tall and broad-shouldered with dark hair that brushed his collar. He was otherwise unrecognizable as his back was turned to her. For some reason, Ron looked utterly livid, while Harry’s expression was unreadable. Fred waved his arm to catch his twin’s attention. George’s eyes widened briefly at the sight of he and Hermione before his face broke into a smug grin. She saw him turn to the stranger and say something with a nod in their direction.   
  
As the wizard turned around, Hermione gasped loudly. “ _Viktor?_ ” Fred quickly caught the glass of punch that slipped from her fingers and smirked.  
  
The dark, sullen expression that always seemed permanently affixed to the famed Quidditch player’s countenance broke into a rare, warm grin as he quickly strode over to close the distance between them. Before she could breathe another word, she was engulfed in strong, affectionate arms and the pleasant smell of cedar, salt, and spice that was her friend.   
  
Pulling back from the hug, he held her at arms length and let his gaze travel from her head to her feet. “You look vunderful,” he said in a quiet and heartfelt tone.   
  
 _Oh, my…_  Hermione thought, as her own eyes took in the sight of the athletic Bulgarian in his dress robes. She felt her cheeks warm slightly, but taking a cue from the many conversations she’d had with the twins, she straightened her shoulders and raised an eyebrow. “So do you,” she replied confidently, unable to help the smile that pulled at her lips.   
  
After the ceremony, Ron made sure to navigate them far from where his Aunt Muriel was spouting crass remarks to everyone about every topic under the sun. They wound up at a table off to the side where Luna was sitting alone in a bright yellow sundress. Hermione was pleased when just a moment later, Viktor arrived with several glasses of champagne for the group, which he set down before taking the empty seat on the other side of her.   
  
Ignoring the loud snort of irritation coming from Ronald on her left, she turned her attention to Viktor. “I had no idea you would be here,” she said with a grin. “You didn’t mention it in your last letter…”  
  
Viktor’s lips quirked in amusement. “It vas meant for surprise,” he answered. “Ven I reply to Fleur, she write back, say I should not tell you.” He nodded in the direction of the twins, who were blatantly flirting with a small group of Fleur’s veela cousins. “Vos their idea,” he added. “Is good idea, I hope?” His thick eyebrows shot up questioningly.   
  
“Wonderful idea,” Hermione answered with a warm smile. “Although, I would have been just as happy knowing ahead of time, too.”  
  
Viktor opened his mouth to say something, when the band suddenly struck up a waltz. Ron noisily pushed his chair out from the table and stood with his hand out to Hermione “Dance with me,” he said, his face flushed and his jaw set.   
  
Surprised that Ron had finally learned how to dance, Hermione smiled and let him lead her to the floor, where he proceeded to stumble them both through a cringe-inducing choreography of awkwardness. She couldn’t have been more grateful or delighted when Viktor finally cut in.   
  
“It has been too long, Her-my…owny” he said carefully, pronouncing the syllables in time with the music. “I am glad you started to write again,” he added with a smile.   
  
“I am too,” she replied, and meant it.   
  
Perhaps at one point there could have been more, had they not lived several countries apart. But the letters she had exchanged with Viktor Krum over the past couple of years had established a treasured friendship for Hermione, especially after this last year.  
  
The frosting on the cake with regards to the whole Christmas disaster was the fact that she’d knowingly turned down the opportunity to see Viktor over the holiday. Upon receiving news that her parents were planning to spend Christmas in Greece, he had pointed out that where they would be traveling was not far from his own family’s home in Bulgaria, and perhaps he could see her briefly.  
  
The irony was not lost on her that it was largely due to her feelings for Sirius that she’d backed out of the Greece trip in favour of spending the holidays where she could indulge in her fixation. Had she just gone with her parents, who knows what would have happened? Maybe seeing Viktor again would have sparked something, or at the very least helped her get over Sirius.   
  
Of course, what was done was done, and she’d already felt horribly guilty for declining with an untruthful excuse. The upshot was that after Christmas, she’d really made an effort to keep in better touch with Viktor, rekindling the long-distance friendship that had slowed quite a bit after the Ministry incident. It was refreshing to have someone to write to about anything  _but_  the Order, the war, Voldemort, or Harry Potter. These topics were off-limits, naturally, but it was a relief in the long run.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione spotted Sirius dancing with Tonks in the distance, and stumbled slightly. The music had picked up in tempo, and Viktor smiled down at her as she recognized one of the faster songs they had danced to at the Yule Ball.   
  
“It vos long time ago,” he murmured to her before swooping her down into a sudden dip, eliciting a delighted giggle from her lips as she remembered.   
  
When he brought her up again, Hermione noticed that Sirius and Tonks had migrated noticeably closer to them, and Sirius seemed to be watching the two of them like a hawk. For one ridiculous, fleeting instant, a tiny part of her thought and hoped that perhaps he was making his way over to cut in and ask her to dance. She very nearly snorted out loud at the ridiculous notion, though, silently chastising herself for even entertaining the thought.   
  
Taking a deep breath to center herself, Hermione re-focused her intention back to Viktor. “I am sorry it’s been a while since my last letter,” she said. “Things got rather… well, I’m sure you heard that Dumbledore was killed…”  
  
Viktor frowned and nodded. “He vos great vizard. I haff heard much about the var that is building here. I vorry for you.” He gave her another assessing look, smiling as his thumb smoothed a tiny crease in the waistline of her dress. “You look very beautiful, but your eyes…” He gave a tiny shake of his head. “How haff  _you_  been, Hermownninny?” he asked pointedly, then rolled his eyes at himself for butchering her name again.   
  
Hermione smiled affectionately at him, but trained her voice to remain casual. She couldn’t very well tell him just how mixed up and miserable and preoccupied and scared she’d been these past months, could she? Well, not here in the middle of the dance floor, at least. “Good, busy, you know…” she answered lightly, too lightly. The look in his eyes told her he knew this, too. She gave a tiny shrug and asked, “What about you?”  
  
Viktor gave her a wry smirk before answering a response that was just as canned. “Qvidditch mostly.” Then, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze and continued, “Vas thinking of retiring and vorking for your Ministry. Vas offered Ambassadorship.”   
  
 _Oh._  This was more news than she really felt they could discuss at a wedding.   
  
As if on cue, the music came to an end, but Viktor didn’t move, his hands still holding her in place. Out of her peripheral vision, Hermione noticed Sirius and Tonks standing nearby, looking utterly conspicuous, but her attention was drawn back to Viktor as he tenderly stroked her cheek with his knuckle.  
  
“Vould very much like be closer to you, Herm-own-ninny. If I make move to England, vould you let me see you?"   
  
“Oh,” she said aloud this time.  
  
Hermione felt her stomach drop at his words, and flushed slightly at the intense but tender look in his eyes. This  _really_  was more than she felt she could discuss at a wedding, particularly under the sudden scrutiny of Tonks and Sirius. What could she say, though? ‘Yes’ didn’t feel like an option, but then again, neither did ‘no’.  
  
Finally she decided on a vague but completely honest response. "Viktor, I'm afraid my life may be a bit uncertain for a little while."   
  
"Vy? Are you not in Hogvarts for last year? Could see you for Hogsmeade veekends." Viktor's large hands cupped her face tenderly, and she warmed at the gesture. “I know I’m not only man vith interest in you, but am villing to fight for you.”  
  
Hermione searched mentally for what he could be referring to. “Man?” she asked, frowning in confusion. “Oh, you mean Ron?” Another song had started up but they remained still.   
  
"Not really thinking of Veasley, but if he is contender for your affections..." Viktor trailed off, raising his eyebrows and tilting his head with a small implying nod.   
  
Why was she even having this conversation, she suddenly wondered. Here was Viktor Krum, her handsome, smart, incredibly sweet friend for whom she definitely felt at least some attraction, and they were discussing essentially the ‘why not’s of simply dating?   
  
 _Get a grip, Granger,_  she told herself, and finally gave Viktor a small smile despite the twinge of melancholy she felt. "There really aren't any contenders, Viktor," she said softly.  
  
"Not true," he disagreed. "But I can hope his lack of action is good fortune for me. Tell me,  _mila_ , can I see you? You give me chance to make you happy?"   
  
“Well, my life  _is_  a bit complicated and uncertain right now,” Hermione began gently, “And I don’t know that it’s fair to ask for that much patience from anyone, but…”  
  
“You are thinking too much again,” he smiled affectionately and pressed his thumb to her lips.   
  
Before she could respond, the familiar silvery blur of a Patronus suddenly appeared, and she reacted, pulling out of Viktor’s embrace quickly and reaching Harry and Ron, breathless. In one quick glance, she caught Sirius’ eye as he shoved guests out of his way, his hair whipping out of its ponytail. She could barely make out his voice in the commotion, but she knew. Giving him a small nod, she grabbed Harry and Ron’s arms and turned, Disapparating them to Grimauld Place.   
  


~oOo~

  
  
__Tonks laughed over the scrape of her chair as she stood to go. “I mean, Krum… a spy? Really, Sirius. You couldn’t have been more obvious. I’ll be back later on,” she murmured. “She’s gonna be alright, you’ll see.”  
  
As the Auror’s footfalls faded into the hallway, Sirius gave Hermione’s hand a gentle squeeze and brought it to his lips, whispering, “I saw it before then anyway, sweeting. I just didn’t know…”  
  
_ _

~~

_  
  
More and more Hermione likened her mental state to that of being immersed in a very large, dark tank of water, large enough to hold every memory and thought in her mind, but still enclosed, with an invisible escape hatch she simply could not find. It rather amazed her that, for the most part, she remained quite calm and lucid despite what was a frustrating predicament. It was only those times when she dwelled on the torture that landed her in such a state, or the wizard she so desperately yearned to return to, that she would lean towards worry and sometimes panic.  
  
Everyone had visited her, it seemed, many of them returning multiple times. She felt particularly bad for Neville Longbottom, whose hushed voice murmured over her one day for only a brief instant. Luna had accompanied him, and Hermione knew it must have taken a lot for him to see one of his own classmates fall victim to the same witch that had destroyed his parents. All he had said was, “Please.”  
  
Parvati and Lavender came by once, but were quickly ushered away by Madam Pomfrey, who scolded Lavender for leaving her bed. Hermione wondered what that was about, but never heard back from them.   
  
It was some time before her stream of thoughts and memories were interrupted by a quiet masculine flow of words she could not understand but recognized as Bulgarian.   
  
_Oh, Viktor… _Hermione thought sadly, and her heart wrenched even more when she recognized that he was repeating certain hushed phrases in such a practiced rhythm, she realized he was praying. She wondered if her guilt would ever diminish over him. He had been so patient and caring with her, even when she had finally admitted to herself as well as him that she couldn’t return his feelings because she was still in love with someone else._  
  


~oOo~

  
  
She’d told herself she couldn’t.  
  
And then she’d asked herself why not. She was eighteen now, and she’d been ‘seeing’ Viktor for months – nothing official or serious. Life, the Order, the war against Voldemort, all made certain that there was little time for two people to seriously ‘date’ on a regular basis.   
  
All the same…   
  
They were good together. Not necessarily the kind of scorching passion she’d read and dreamt about, but he certainly knew how to kiss, and he liked  _her_. He made her feel wanted, attractive, like someone valuable and worth pursuing, rather than someone to just be tolerated. He didn’t push, but he seemed to have a perfect sense of just how far was appropriate with her.  
  
And so it had moved from, “I’m afraid my life may be a bit uncertain,” to late night conversations at the kitchen table, to snogging in the library when no one else was around, to this.   
  
A niggling feeling of disloyalty always uncurled itself in her gut when they’d spend time together alone, when he’d drape his muscled arm around her shoulder or whisper endearments in broken English in her ear at the kitchen table. She knew it was utterly ridiculous – she was betraying no one. Sirius had long since made his feelings (or lack thereof), clear, and she refused to let her heart continue latching on to every smile or prolonged glance from him. Had it been anyone else, there were times she could have sworn he was…  _interested_  in her. But despite her idiotic feelings, she wasn’t a fool. And it seemed that any time he did pay her a little attention, he snatched it away just as quickly.  
  
No, she wasn’t betraying anyone at all by being with Viktor. And as Sirius’ behaviour toward her grew more erratic, running hot and cold and utterly confusing, Hermione learned to stamp that feeling down more and more until it came to this.   
  
Grimmauld Place was quiet that afternoon. Remus and Sirius were lurking around somewhere, and Harry had decided to use the opportunity to ask Remus what he knew about the history of the Hallows. Hermione’s morning spent in the Black library with Viktor had been so sweetly reminiscent of the year Hogwarts had hosted the Tri-Wizard Tournament.   
  
He spent more time watching her research than bothering with the ancient books himself. It wasn’t for lack of intelligence or even interest, as she had once unfairly assumed in her fourth year. Rather, he hadn’t learned to read or speak English until a fairly late age, so his usefulness with the written word was limited. His presence was soothing, however, and a constant reminder that she was young, and attractive, and feminine. He’d sometimes let his leg gently slide along hers under the large desk, or tenderly brush a stray curl out of her face when she’d read a passage to him, explaining her thoughts and asking for his ideas. He really was quite intelligent, just slightly limited by a language barrier.   
  
After a few hours of ‘research’, they’d stopped for lunch in the kitchen, where sandwiches and hot honeyed tea had made way for a rather passionate snogging session against the ancient old table. Hermione had broken away breathlessly, reminding herself and Viktor that there were others in the house. Suddenly, the advice of her friends from so many months ago rang in her ears. On different occasions, they’d all told her the same thing, Lavender, Parvati, Fred and George, even Tonks in her letters: _Move on. You can’t afford to wait for perfection. Experiment. Have fun. It’s not all about ‘true love’…_  And so it was, that Hermione led Viktor by his large strong hand up the stairs to her bedroom on the second floor.   
  
While it wasn’t the soul-consuming fiery sort of passion she’d felt in that one disastrous Christmas kiss from Sirius, Hermione was still human, a warm-blooded young witch whose body had just as many reactions to the right stimuli as anyone else’s. And Viktor was an experienced enough wizard to pull those reactions from her. His lips tasted along her neck and shoulders, fingers playing across otherwise innocent patches of exposed flesh in ways that promised more, if only she’d let him.   
  
When they reached her room, he paused, pressing her against the closed door with a long, lingering kiss before pulling away, his hands still resting lightly on her waist.  
  
“Are you sure,  _mila?_  I do not vant to press you…” he raised an eyebrow slightly in question.  
  
Hermione smiled at his thoughtfulness as well as the little term of endearment he’d taken to calling her. It came so much easier from his lips, and fell easier on her ears than his never-ending struggle with pronouncing her name. Wordlessly, she turned the doorknob and pulled him into her room before casting a locking and silencing charm on the door.  
  
As the famed Bulgarian slowly took in their surroundings, a swarm of butterflies seemed to take flight in her stomach. Underneath that, however, there was that familiar niggling feeling of disloyalty. Frowning inwardly, she gave the feeling a hard mental shove and turned to Viktor with what she hoped was a seductive smile.  
  
“So…” she began shyly.  
  
A wry half-smile pulled the corners of his full mouth. “So,” he answered slowly, his fingers dancing up her arms. They reached her neck, curling under the curtain of her hair as his thumbs stroked tenderly along her jaw line. His kisses were warm, languorous, and well-practiced after many weeks of slowly wearing her down.   
  
Hermione’s hands automatically slid up over the thick soft cashmere of his jumper to clasp behind his neck as she stepped back, pulling him with her, guiding them both to her bed. The thought flitted through her mind like it always did, of how Viktor’s hair was coarse against her fingers. She was never able to abolish the memory of silky raven locks that brushed the back of her hesitant hands, even though it was nearly a year ago that it happened. She sighed with the desperate thought,  _please leave my mind_ , and opened her lips to Viktor’s, wishing the thoughts of Sirius away.   
  
When the backs of her legs bumped the edge of her bed, Viktor eased them both onto the down mattress, balancing himself on his elbows as he hovered above her. His dark hazel eyes caressed her face lovingly as his big hands smoothed a stray curl away. Hermione shifted uncomfortably under his gaze and looked down at the collar of his dark green jumper. She secretly hated that look from him, because that was when she felt most traitorous.   
  
Determined, she slid her hands back down over his chest, curling them under the hem of fabric and tugging upwards. They’d never made it this far, but surely it had to happen some time? She could hardly go on pining away for Sirius Black until she was an old and wizened fool of unrequited love…  
  
A deep chuckle rumbled from the depths of the lean chest above her as Viktor leaned back and helped her, pulling the dark cashmere over his head, exposing his undeniably magnificent torso to her fingers now.   
  
With a nervous gasp, Hermione tentatively reached out, her hands just hovering over his skin.   
  
A soft moan came from the wizard as he pressed her hand to his chest with one of his own. She could feel his heart beating, and felt herself flush at the intimate gesture. Before she could worry about what to do next, he was over her again, kissing so tenderly, so eloquently, Hermione felt her heart twist.   
  
 _Damn it, stop that!_  she admonished herself sharply.  _Sex does not equal marriage, for Merlin’s sake, and isn’t it time to live?_  She was eighteen now, and in the middle of a war, and –  
  
“Mila,” Viktor whispered in a slightly amused tone. “You are thinking again…”  
  
Hermione took a deep breath and pushed the thoughts away once more, relaxing under the hands that were tracing along her neck and shoulder, the backs of his fingers now following the line of buttons down her blouse, not touching, just suggesting politely.   
  
Steeling her resolve, she leaned up, kissing him with renewed passion as her hands left his chest to unbutton her blouse. The sudden feel of skin against skin sent her pulse rate skyrocketing. Viktor groaned into her kiss before leaving her lips, trailing his mouth along her jaw line, down her throat, to her collarbone as his hands began a slow exploration below. Fingers pushed aside the material of her blouse to stroke the flesh of her waist, his thumbs tracing patterns along her stomach.   
  
“So soft, my sweet girl,” he murmured.   
  
It felt nerve wracking, terrifying, and yet  _good_  to be touched by him, and she arched slightly as his fingers neared her breasts. The movement caused their bodies to brush against each other in a way that made her suddenly aware of Viktor’s need.   
  
 _What the hell am I doing?_  Hermione thought frantically, feeling as though someone had dumped ice water on her brain.  
  
Apparently unaware, Viktor’s fingers lightly traced the outline of a breast, then froze as she tensed. A breathless pause later, he pulled back, his gaze searching her face.  
  
She knew he would never force her, never do anything to take advantage. It was Viktor Krum’s extreme sense of honour that had held him off for so long, but it was the tenderness in his eyes that showed why he’d merely ‘held off’ instead of giving up entirely. It was this – this obvious affection he had for her, Hermione suddenly realized, that was the source of all those ugly feelings of betrayal she had.   
  
It wasn’t Sirius she felt she was being disloyal to, it was  _herself_ , for forcing feelings that weren’t really there, and it was Viktor, protective, gentle, adoring, sweet Viktor, whose heart  _was_  there, and whom she’d been using all along to try and erase her feelings Sirius.  
  
Suddenly overwhelmed by shame and guilt, Hermione felt her eyes begin to prick.  
  
Seeing her expression, Viktor leaned back on his elbows. “Mila? Vot is matter?” he asked softly.   
  
Taking a shuddering breath, Hermione shook her head. “I – I can’t do this, Viktor,” she answered in a miserable whisper. “I’m sorry,” she added, closing her eyes against the tears that were now definitely coming.  
  
Viktor slid easily off of her, resting on his side. He gingerly pulled the openings of her blouse closed as best as possible before tracing her cheekbone with a fingertip. “Is fine,” he murmured, “I vould never… Is fine,” he reassured in hushed tones.  
  
 _No, it’s truly not,_  Hermione answered silently, her eyes still clamped shut against the inevitable talk she knew she faced with Viktor.   
  
After a patient moment of quiet hushing, Viktor spoke again. “Mila, I must ask…” He took a hesitant breath. “Are you still… vith flower?” he asked delicately.  
  
Hermione’s eyes flew open with a perplexed frown. “Flower?” she repeated.  
  
“Eh…” Viktor searched for a moment before giving a small sheepish grin. “Is first time?”   
  
“Oh.”  _Of course_. “Well, yes, but… but that’s not why…”   
  
His fingers pressed softly at her lips and a sad smile played across his features. Hermione felt another miserable twist of guilt and sadness in her chest.   
  
“Is not so difficult,” Viktor began slowly, “ven heart is not vith another. I do not ask for heart, mila, but I vould not ask for flower either, ven heart is not here,” he touched her chest softly.   
  
Her bottom lip quivered uncontrollably, and the tears that had been threatening sprung forth with a soft sob. “I’m so sorry, Viktor,” Hermione gasped. “I didn’t mean to - ”  
  
“Shhhh…” He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly.   
  
His anger would almost have been preferable - it would have been something human, understandable, something she could have reasoned with and defended herself against. But this gesture of unadulterated compassion and caring was like a cold chisel struck against the weakest part of her façade. She curled into his chest, hiding her face in her hands as he held her, letting harsh sobs wrack her body as her pain and confusion over Sirius flooded to the surface in a great wave.   
  
When her sobs finally subsided into shuddering little hiccoughs, she pulled away with a sheepish and failed attempt at a smile.  
  
Viktor gently wiped the wetness from her cheeks with his thumbs. “I am so sorry, mila,” he murmured sympathetically.   
  
Hermione shook her head in disbelief and shame. “I – I wish I could just forget. He doesn’t love me… It’s been almost a year, and I just want to not feel like this. I just want to forget,” she said tremulously.   
  
“ _Perhaps_  does not love,” he answered darkly. “But surely does not  _deserve_  you.” His lips curled in a regretful half-smile. “Vish I could help you forget,” he added.  
  
“You deserve more than that, Viktor,” she whispered. “So much more. You are… so special to me.” She cupped his face with her hand. “I’m so sorry I did this. You should be angry, not comforting.”  
  
“Am angry vith vizard who hurt you. Vould smash his tiny head if ever meet him. Never angry vith you… Her-my-OWN-nee,” he said, smiling at his correct pronunciation. He paused and took a deep breath. “I vill miss this,” he said wistfully as he brushed the hair back from her damp forehead.  
  
Hermione’s lips curved downward. “Me too,” she admitted in a whisper, feeling a fresh sting of tears, this time for the loss of what she really had no right to.   
  
Viktor pulled her into another warm embrace before kissing her forehead, her eyes that were still moist and salty, and then finally her lips, where they both lingered over their last taste.   
  
“I vill always be ‘special friend’, mila,” he whispered to her, before hoisting himself up from her bed, then holding out his hand to her.   
  
“You are pink,” he teased, and motioned her to the little private bathroom attached to her bedroom.   
  
After some time spent with a cold wet cloth on her face, Hermione emerged, her face still slightly flushed and her hair still mussed as she buttoned up her blouse, when a knock came on her door.  
  
“Hermione?” Sirius called.  
  
Before she could react, Viktor opened the door. In a very short instant, familiar grey eyes assessed her rumpled state of dress and the younger wizard’s presence in her locked room, and she felt a hot flush creep over her face.  
  
Sirius glared cold daggers at the Seeker. “You’re wanted in the kitchen,  _Krum._ ” His voice was dangerously low.  
  
Hermione cringed inwardly, catching sight of Viktor’s smug expression as he passed Sirius on his way out. She hurriedly finished buttoning her blouse as Sirius stepped into her bedroom and closed the door with a soft click behind him.   
  
“Are you bloody fucking mental?” he snarled, suddenly grabbing her wrists hard enough to leave bruises.   
  
“ _Excuse_  me?” Hermione’s tone was incredulous as she jerked her hands away from him.   
  
“Sleeping with the enemy!” he snapped, “He’s one of Karkaroff’s, you  _know_  that, and you’re fucking  _shagging_  him!”  
  
Something clicked in Hermione’s mind all of a sudden.  _He’s from Durmstrang!_  she remembered Ron’s voice with clarity from years earlier.  _You – you’re – fraternizing with the enemy, that’s what you’re doing!_  She very nearly would have laughed had it been anyone other than Sirius making similar accusations in the exact same tone. Sirius - who had made painfully clear less than a year ago how unwelcome her attentions were, and Sirius with his pendulous mood swings that seemed almost exclusively directed at her.  
  
Straightening her shoulders, she squared her gaze on him and answered in a surprisingly calm voice, “He’s a member of the Order, Sirius, and the last time I checked, who I may or may not be  _shagging_  is none of your concern.”  
  
Sirius waved impatiently, but his voice was still ragged with anger. “Oh, don’t give me that - ”   
  
“You’ve already made it clear that I’m not allowed to have feelings for  _you_ , Sirius,” Hermione interrupted, her voice strong and cold and increasing in volume. “Are you going to tell me now that I can’t have feelings for anyone else?”  
  
“So you do have feelings for him?” he demanded.  
  
“I didn’t say that,” Hermione stammered, cursing herself for the truth.  
  
“Oh, so you’re just fucking him, then? Well done, I suppose!” he barked nastily, a hateful sneer on his face.  
  
Her hand met his face before she even registered her own reaction. “Get out,” Hermione ordered, her voice deadly.   
  
He didn’t move at first, and the sight of him still there, silent and stupid, caused a great wave of unspeakable fury to swell in her.  
  
She felt a sudden nameless force from within give a violent shove in his direction. Before she could even register just what happened or how, he was nearly thrown from the room, through the now-open door.   
  
“GET OUT!” she screeched. When he stumbled, dumbfounded and speechless against the hallway wall opposite her room, she narrowed her eyes at him.  
  
“Never,  _ever_  speak to me that way again,” her voice wavered with rage. “Better yet, never speak to me again period!”   
  
She slammed the door and threw every locking and silencing charm she could at it before dropping her wand with a clatter and sinking to her knees.   
  
Fifteen minutes later, a hesitant knock came on her door. She tried to ignore it, to breathe into the yoga position Parvati had taught her for centering and calming. But again the knock came, this time followed by Harry’s concerned voice.   
  
Heaving a sigh, Hermione dropped back into a cross-legged sit and waved her wand at the door. “I’m  _fine_  Harry,” she snapped as soon as the door swung open.   
  
“Yeah, well I’m not,” Harry frowned, entering the room and dropping onto the edge of her bed unhappily. He peered at her critically and asked, “What in the hell just happened?”  
  
Straightening her shoulders defensively, she answered, “Well, I don’t really know that it’s any of your business.”  
  
“Bollocks,” he muttered. “It turns into everyone’s business when you and Sirius have a screaming match at the top of the stairs that ends with him bloodying Viktor Krum’s face and threatening to tear his throat out.”  
  
Hermione stared at Harry incredulously. “He… he  _what?_ ” she stammered. The Silencing charms she’d cast had been strong enough to keep her from hearing anything outside of her room, in addition to not letting them hear her.   
  
Harry just smirked unhappily and shook his head in disgust.   
  
“That’s not my fault!” Hermione argued, reddening.  
  
“I didn’t say it was!” Harry snapped. “But seeing as how both Sirius and Viktor have gone out to drink themselves stupid, I thought maybe you could shed a little light on what’s going on. I mean we – we could hear you two all the way downstairs, but... ”  
  
“Well you know just as much as I do then, don’t you, Harry? Do I look like I know what’s going on?” she demanded angrily. “Don’t you dare turn this on me, and don’t  _even_  ask me to be the one to extend the olive branch, here,” she stormed, recalling the times he’d done just that when she and Ron were at odds. “I have played nice, I’ve minded my own business, I’ve dated other wizards, and frankly we’re supposed to be focusing on You-Know-Who and his bloody Horcruxes!”   
  
“…About that,” came Remus’ weary and dry voice suddenly from the doorway. “We have more information on Nagini. We’re calling a meeting in an hour.”  
  


~oOo~

  
  
_Hermione felt the familiar, gentle caress of a knuckle tracing lightly from her temple down her jaw line.  
  
“Mila,” Viktor pleaded softly, his voice a little more ragged than usual and tinged with sadness. “Mila, you must vake up. You are… smartest, strongest vitch I know. You _vill _vake.” He paused and gave a short, soft chuckle. “This Sirius Black… I do not think he can take care of himself viz-out you. He is… good man. Vill make you happy…. Or I beat him into sticky pulp,” he added wryly.  
  
Then, with a sigh, he said in a more somber tone, “You must vake, little girl. I vant to see you happy, mila. Obicham te,” he added in a whisper.  
  
Hermione was certain her eyes began to prick, but the tears would not come._  
  


~oOo~

  
  
As soon as everyone was present for that evening’s Order meeting, a discussion was launched about Voldemort’s snake, one of the two final Horcruxes remaining. Hermione stoutly refused to even glance in Sirius’ direction, and avoided Viktor’s looks as well. The former she was still unspeakably furious with, but the latter she was too ashamed to face. He had not taken his usual seat next to hers at the kitchen table, and although she accepted that it was appropriate and she deserved it, it stung tremendously.   
  
Halfway through the meeting, however, she was looking down at her notes through blurry eyes and caught a movement on a corner of parchment, a familiar scrawl forming itself.  
  
“ _Are you alright, my special friend?_ ”  
  
Hermione glanced up at the Bulgarian seated across from her and two spaces down, to find concerned eyes gazing back at her.   
  
 _Oh, why couldn’t it have been Viktor? Why did it have to be Sirius?_ she wondered bitterly. Sirius, with his mercurial temper, who didn’t love her, and who seemed bent on making her either cry or rage. She was beginning to question her state of mental health over the matter, to be honest. Wouldn’t it be better, healthier, to fall in love with someone as kind and understanding as Viktor, who’d been rejected and punched in the face, yet still was concerned for her welfare?   
  
With an unhappy sigh, Hermione supposed that having felt this way for over a year was probably an indication that she didn’t really have a choice who she fell for and who she didn’t. She flashed Viktor a small smile and nodded imperceptibly before turning her attention back to Kingsley.  
  
As soon as the meeting adjourned, Sirius was the first to leave the kitchen, and Hermione breathed a silent sigh of relief. She made herself busy by helping to clear the table of dishes and coffee cups, lingering behind in the hopes of catching Viktor before he left for the night.   
  
“So what in the hell happened here earlier?” Ginny whispered to her as Hermione piled everything into the sink. “Harry was fuming when I got here…”  
  
Hermione honestly didn’t think Harry had any reason at all to be angry, and bristled at this. “Nothing I care to talk about,” she answered quietly.   
  
“But I thought you and Viktor - ”  
  
“Maybe later, Gin,” Hermione cut her off as she noticed Remus and Viktor were obviously finishing up their conversation with Kingsley. As Viktor turned to go, she caught his eye with what she hoped was a silent request to wait for her. His lips quirked slightly and he headed upstairs to the front hallway, and she was quick to follow.   
  
“Viktor,” she began softly.   
  
He turned to her, then threw a pointed look up to the top of the stairs. “Vould you like to step outside for a moment?” he asked quietly.  
  
The night was cold and damp and the rotting back porch of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place groaned forbiddingly under their weight. Viktor leaned against the post and quirked an eyebrow expectantly.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Hermione blurted out. “I had no idea until Harry told me what happened, and I just feel terrible for everything.”  
  
He gave her a considering look for a moment, then smirked. “I cannot tell you is alright, Her-my-own. But I do not vish for you to feel terrible for everysing. Am here to help fight var, first.”   
  
When she opened her mouth to respond, he held up a hand. “I vill always be friend,  _mila._ Good, special friend. I do not haff bad feeling for you. But,” he paused and gave a small, sad smile. “I do haff  _feeling_  for you. And I vill alvays feel… protect… protection-? _protectiff_ , and now he knows this. I vill not pursue you any longer, Her- Her-my-own-nee. But he vill not hurt you again, viz-out… conseqvence.” he explained darkly.   
  
When Hermione didn’t respond but simply stood there in the shadows with a confused expression he could barely see, Viktor leaned up off the post, gave a nod, and turned to go back into the house.   
  
“Viktor - ” she stopped him.  
  
“Yes, Her-my-owny?” he asked quietly.   
  
“Could I… could I have a hug, please?” she choked.   
  
“Anytime,  _mila_ ,” he replied warmly and pulled her into his arms, holding her there until she slowly moved away, offering him a watery smile at their final closure.  
  



	5. Apologies

  
_The silence was punctuated by the occasional sound of someone sniffling.  
  
_ Oh good Godric, _Hermione thought irritably._ More of the crying nonsense? Can’t they get someone in here who can actually help me? _She wondered briefly if a Legilimens could help, but realized they were so rare – the only truly skilled Legilimens she knew of were dark wizards, or in Snape’s case ‘semi-dark’, and all were also incidentally dead.  
  
“I know, Minerva, but we’ve done all we can. Our time is almost up,” Madam Pomfrey murmured sadly.   
  
“You and I both know those idiots at St. Mungo’s won’t be of any more help, Poppy,” Professor McGonagall replied in a hushed but angry tone. “They’ll put her in with the others on the Fourth Floor and she’s not – she’s not…” her words were lost in a tearful gasp.   
  
“But it’s the law, dear,” the Hogwarts healer said.   
  
“Well, it’s a perfectly ridiculous one at that!” McGonagall cried.   
  
“A perfectly ridiculous one what?” Sirius asked from the doorway. Hermione noticed with sadness and concern how flat and tired his voice sounded.  
  
When his question was met with silence, he spoke slowly with a warning tone. “Minnie? Poppy? What is it?” he demanded.   
  
Madam Pomfrey was the one to answer, though her voice was thin and nervous. “It’s been nearly four weeks, Mr. Black.”  
  
“…And?”   
  
Remus spoke from behind him, as if he’d just entered the room. “Poppy, Minerva, I’ll explain,” he said softly.   
  
As soon as the shuffle of feet moved toward the door and disappeared into silence, Sirius’ voice came low and dangerous. “What in the hell is going on?” rumbled.  
  
Remus sighed. “Sit down, Pads.” After a pause in which Sirius evidently did not sit down, he muttered, “…or not. Sirius, Ministry law states that any student requiring medical attention for more than twenty-eight days must be transferred to the care of St. Mungo’s.”  
  
“Hermione’s not a student,” Sirius answered simply.  
  
“-And that fact alone would have had her transferred to St. Mungo’s weeks ago, were it not for Minerva acting as deputy headmistress and bending the truth in your favor,” Remus gently explained. “By law, she should have been moved as soon as her condition was seen stable enough to allow for it. Unless her family steps forward to take responsibility for her medical decisions, there’s - ”  
  
“No.” Sirius interrupted. “I won’t allow it.”  
  
“You haven’t a choice.”   
  
“I don’t fucking care, Moony!” Sirius voice grew louder. “We both know what they’ll do to her there – nothing! They’ll shut her away on the fourth floor with the ‘incurables’ and I won’t fucking have it!”   
  
“That’s not necessarily true,” Remus refuted. “But she needs to be under someone’s care, she needs to have someone watching her - ”  
  
“Like I’ve been doing here!”   
  
“Pads, that’s not what I mean and you know it. You can’t just steal her away to Grimmauld.”  
  
“Why not! At least the people watching her there will be people who love her, who – who aren’t just… writing her off as a lost case!” Sirius’ voice was growing thick and unsteady. “Or is that just me?” he added angrily. “You think I don’t see the pathetic looks, hear the whispers? She’s in there, Moony, I fucking saw it, and you’re telling me to just let her be carted off to the forty-ninth ward and left for hopeless with a bunch of arseholes who’ll do less for her than even Poppy did.”  
  
In a rare loss of patience, Remus snapped back, “You do not have a choice, Pads! What are you going to do – kidnap her? And how much good do you think will that do either of you? How much good will that do Minerva and Hogwarts as a whole to have a patient stolen away from under their noses? Do you think that’s what Hermione would want? You keep saying you ‘saw it’, but…” He paused, as if re-gathering his calm.  
  
“But what, Moony?” Sirius asked quietly through clenched teeth.  
  
Remus took a deep breath. “But she didn’t exactly say anything, did she? Are you so sure you weren’t just seeing what you wanted to see?” he asked gently. “I know you’re hurt, Sirius, believe me. We all are, and I know you’re hurting the most over this. But I think, perhaps – it’s been nearly a month… perhaps it’s time to start accepting that Hermione might not be coming back.”  
  
Hermione was surprised that her entire body didn’t start at the sudden sound of flesh hitting flesh and the squeak of feet scuffling violently against the floor.   
  
“Damnit, Padfoot!” Remus growled. “Fucking listen to me!”  
  
“No!” Sirius yelled. “You listen to me! I won’t – I _WILL NOT _hear this… this BULLSHIT!”  
  
“Boys!” Minerva McGonagall’s shocked voice rang from the doorway.   
  
“Not now, Minerva!” Remus snarled, shocking everyone before again lowering his voice to a reasoning tone. “Sirius,” he panted, “think of Hermione…”  
  
“You think I’m not?” Sirius retorted in a ragged voice. “If there’s even the smallest chance that she’s in there, don’t you think she’d want me fighting for her? And _you… _you’re all just – just_ giving up! _” he said in a near-sob.  
  
“We’re just trying to be realistic, Pads. Frank and Alice Longbottom - ” Remus began, but was interrupted.  
  
“-were under the Crutiatus for much longer than that – almost twice as long,” Sirius insisted.  
  
“Yes, but they were also Aurors who were trained to withstand brutal interrogation methods, and Hermione is just a girl - ”  
  
“She is _not _‘just a girl’ Moony,” Sirius growled, then gasped painfully. “She’s… she’s my everything,” he whispered brokenly.  
  
After a respectful pause, Remus murmured, “I’m sorry, friend.”   
  
“I think you should leave now,” Sirius said in a quiet, pained voice.   
  
“The medical examiner will be by in the morning to do an assessment of her condition. Please don’t do anything rash, Sirius,” Remus pleaded.  
  
“Just go.”   
  
There was a long silence after Remus left before all hell broke loose, with Sirius as its source. Hermione cringed inwardly at the ragged snarls and violent crashes, splintering wood and clanging metal, and wondered at the fact that no one from the hospital wing came running in to see what the commotion was about.   
  
With his rage evidently exhausted, Sirius sank hard against the bed, not into the squeaky chair, which Hermione now surmised was a casualty of his temper. When his heart-wrenching sobs rang so close to her ear as he gathered her hand between his two, she realized sadly that he must be on his knees.   
  
“Please…_please _, Hermione,” he begged. “We haven’t even had a chance, love. I was such a bloody fool, an insensitive and self-centered arse, and I wasted so much time for us… I know I don’t deserve you, but oh, please…”  
  
He sniffled and brought her fingers to his lips, which were whiskery now and tear-soaked.   
  
_I’m right here! _Hermione cried silently, panic and frustration roiling against the heartbreak she felt for her wizard,_ her _wizard. He’d said so little this whole time, and when he did speak it was usually to someone else, not her. Every word that escaped him in the past weeks –_ Merlin, has it been nearly four weeks? _\- had left her hungering for more. Now, however, his voice was nearly too much for her to bear, with the flood of pain and sorrow it conveyed.  
  
As if catching himself, Sirius inhaled a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry, sweeting,” he murmured against her hand. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do this.” He gave a watery, bitter chuckle. “Everyone’s been coming in here, crying and praying and confessing over you as if this were some bloody tomb instead of a hospital bed. Well, I won’t do that to you, love. I know – I _know _what I saw, I know you saw me that night, and I fucking know you’re in there. I will not give up on you, Hermione,” he insisted.  
  
He gave her hand another squeeze, and his voice grew earnest. “You and I – we’re going to grow old together, love. I’m not just talking out of my arse here, either. I saw it in your eyes that night, right after we made love… I saw our children, and our grandchildren, I saw years and years of building a life together, of making up for mistakes, of learning each other, of lovemaking and laughter and tears.”   
  
_Oh heavens, _Hermione thought giddily as she felt herself flush. Yes,_ that _night. The night things righted themselves, in their own shaky and embarrassing way, the night she gave herself to him… it was unfortunately the only night they’d made love, as the very next day she’d set off with Harry and Ron…_  
  


~oOo~

  
  
“Hermione, may I speak with you for a moment?”  
  
 _Oh, bollocks. Here we go…_  Hermione thought and mentally cursed Harry and Ron as they made their quick and obvious exits.   
  
For the past three days she’d made a point to avoid Sirius as much as possible, and to not be left alone with him at all. Since finding out he’d attacked Viktor immediately after blowing up at her in her bedroom, Hermione had made the decision that she was finally and completely ‘done’ with the older wizard. She might not be able to help her heart where he was concerned, but her mind certainly knew better.   
  
As soon as this war was over, she promised herself, she would leave Grimmauld Place, finish up her education at Hogwarts, and perhaps travel the globe for a while to exorcise him once and for all from her system. Maybe several continents and oceans put between them would finally let her forget him, because as it was, living under the same roof and working with the Order was doing her no good whatsoever.   
  
As angry as she was with him, her emotions still betrayed her – every time she glanced up to find his grey eyes watching her, a little thrill shot through her body, making her feel even more angry and miserable over her predicament. It wasn’t as if he loved her, or even ‘wanted’ her, she’d repeatedly chided herself. That was what had mystified her about his reaction the other day.  _Jealousy?_  She’d puzzled over it in her mind, but refused to even entertain the hope that it was due to any real attachment to her.   
  
 _I am done with this,_  Hermione thought bravely, repeating it in her head like a mantra. Taking a calming breath, she answered him steadily.   
  
“We have nothing to discuss, Sirius,” she said, turning from him as the door clicked softly shut, signifying that she was now alone in the study with Sirius.   
  
“I owe you an apology,” he said with a note of urgency, adding, “but I’ll understand if you don’t want to hear it.”  
  
 _An apology?_  Hermione smirked to herself. She bit back the phrase ‘too little too late.’ She was already painfully aware that a large portion of her anger was really self-directed. After all, it wasn’t as if Sirius had led her on or forced her to love him. He made that clear enough from day one. He wasn’t even at fault for her inability to have a relationship with Viktor, although she was sorely tempted to point out that he owed an apology to the Bulgarian as well.  
  
Deciding to be an adult about this, she slowly turned and took a seat on the couch, training her face into a calm blankness as she braved his gaze.   
  
Sirius took a deep breath and began. “I am very sorry that a prank that was not intended for you, so publicly exposed something you were clearly trying to keep private,” he said. “I am also sorry for what I said to you in the study afterwards. That was very, very wrong of me.”   
  
 _Well, that was… anticlimactic,_  Hermione thought, and immediately felt ashamed for the thought. While the words were very obviously rehearsed, there was an undeniable sincerity in his tone and face. She knew apologies did not come easily to Sirius Black, and for that she had to give him credit. All the same, she would not let herself hope that this was anything more than him just wishing to clear the air.  
  
Maintaining as much of a neutral expression as possible, she said politely, “Thank you, Sirius,” and stood to leave.  
  
“Please wait,” he interrupted.  
  
 _Oh._  Realizing there was more, Hermione warily sunk back into the couch.  
“I am also sorry for being so crude in your room the other day,” he continued, and mumbled almost sheepishly, “Seems I don’t handle jealousy very well.”   
  
At this Hermione nearly choked. Did she just hear right? A tiny thread of smug satisfaction wriggled inside of her, and she just couldn’t resist a quirk of an eyebrow. “J-Jealousy?” she repeated. “I don’t think I understand,” she continued, trying and failing to feign complete naiveté on the matter.  _Sod it,_  she thought suddenly. If he was going to go there, then she deserved some kind of an explanation. “The age difference between us now is no different than it was a year ago,” she pointed out innocently.  
  
“True,” Sirius answered as his lips twitched almost imperceptibly at the corners. Whatever trace amusement was lost however, as he continued in a serious tone. “You see, I made a promise to myself,” he explained, “a promise that I broke when we kissed. I was furious with myself, but I took my anger out on you.”   
  
Whatever Hermione may have expected for an explanation, this wasn’t it. Realizing he was actually going to tell her something, she asked softly, “What promise?”  
  
She watched as his steel grey eyes took on a cloudiness she’d glimpsed a few times before, usually when he appeared to be slipping into old memories in a way that seemed not altogether balanced. Now, however, the far away look was saner, if still tinged with regret. “I believed, for a very long time, that certain… actions I had taken, hurt two people I loved very much,” replied Sirius. “I promised never again to… indulge myself that way.”   
  
His pause seemed to invite her to ask, and to be truthful now that he was giving her real answers, Hermione was curious. “What actions?” she asked, moving forward to the edge of the couch to close a little space between their conversation.   
  
He swallowed, and his voice decreased in volume. Hermione felt a pang of sympathy as this was obviously not easy for him, but there seemed to be no turning back at this point. “Physical intimacy,” he answered quietly.  
  
She probably could have guessed that much, but it seemed like it needed to be said. Something didn’t quite make sense, however. “Two people?” Hermione asked, thinking perhaps he’d been the cause of some kind of infidelity between a couple. Something in his phrasing suggested it wasn’t that simple, though. “I’m sorry, Sirius, but this is…” she just shook her head. She’d read plenty of books on relationships and sex, but that was nearly all she’d done, and she didn’t wish to guess at whatever it was he was telling her.  
  
“Harry knows all this,” he began, “but James and Lily and I, well, we were more than just friends. Much, much more than friends.”   
  
Hermione’s jaw very much wanted to drop in shock, but the sheer intimacy of such a confession made clear how important it was to be delicate. At the same time, it wouldn’t do to assume anything.   
  
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “Do you mean to say that you were  _involved_  with both James and Lily? At the same time? And while they married?”   
  
“Yes,” he said slowly.   
  
“Together or separately?” came the question before she even thought to stop it. Her hand flew to her mouth in mortification. “I’m sorry,” she apologized for the third time. “That’s none of my business.”   
  
“Take your pick,” Sirius said with a quiet chuckle, appearing unperturbed by her frankness. “I won’t deny that it was… unconventional, but that’s how it was, and it worked.”   
  
Since he seemed fine with such open questions, she had to ask the one that was creating a slow sickening ache in her heart as she pieced things together. “You said you loved them very much. Do you mean - ” she paused and took a deep breath, “you were…  _in_  love with them, and they you?”   
  
Sirius nodded.   
  
 _Oh,_  she thought, simply at first. Then,  _oh…_  as she realized the implication of this new piece of information.  _He was in love with them, both of them, and they him…_  Hermione couldn’t help but think of her own feelings for Sirius, what it would be like to have them returned, and then to lose him, to lose  _two_  of him, and to know that a well-intended but poor judgment call on her own part had inadvertently led to that loss.  _Oh gods…_  she thought painfully as a wave of sorrow swept through her on his behalf.   
  
She glanced up to see his eyes watching her, and decided that probably the last thing he wanted or needed at this point was for her to break down into a sobbing fit of sympathy for him. She mentally shook herself and asked the first non-emotional thing she could think of. “I thought you had your own place - didn’t you tell Harry you had a place of your own after you left school?”  
  
She wasn’t sure why the question came to mind, other than she’d always thought of James and Lily Potter as almost a single entity, and they had been married, apparently only to each other, unless…?  
  
Sirius took a deep breath and Hermione realized the question must have meant more than she thought. “I did, yes, for appearances at first,” he said with a note of discomfort. “I don’t really know how to explain our relationship, but with me, there weren’t really any rules. I’m sure Lily would have used a Severing Charm on James if he ever strayed, but with me…” paused and scratched self-consciously at his stubbled chin.   
  
Sensing that this was turning into an awkward topic, and wanting to reassure Sirius that she wasn’t  _that_  naïve, Hermione did what came naturally. “There are a number of explanations,” she began in a brisk tone, pulling from her extensive book knowledge. “Although, polyamory sounds like the best fit for your situation. It isn’t too surprising really, given that it was the seventies. What the Americans were getting up to has always gotten wider press, but we Britons were having our own fair share of free love. Of course the term polyamory was only coined a few years ago. There was an article - ”   
  
She was interrupted by the quiet sound of stifled chuckling and looked up to find Sirius watching her with an amused expression “Sorry, don’t let me interrupt the lecture.” His lips twitched.   
  
Hermione raised an eyebrow at him briefly, fighting the momentary temptation to point out that her ‘lecture’ was obviously more worldly and educated than whatever his personal experience was, as he was the one fidgeting self-consciously over something that even  _she_  knew wasn’t all that abnormal. “My  _point_ ,” she said, “is that it isn’t that shocking if you occasionally poked your head out of the wizarding world and took a look at what the Muggles are talking about. In many ways we’re years behind them…”   
  
She paused and cringed inwardly, recognizing the know-it-all tone in her voice that Fred and George had called her out on repeatedly in her visits with them over the summer. She took a breath and reminded herself of what her original point was – Sirius and his feelings of guilt.   
  
“I’m just not sure I understand why you thought you hurt them, though,” she finally added softly.   
  
Sirius regarded her silently for a long moment, and Hermione fought the urge to shift uncomfortably. Finally, in a hesitant and thick tone, he said, “When I lost them… when I was in Azkaban, I convinced myself that because I didn’t… restrict myself to just them, that I caused them a great deal of pain. This got easier and easier to believe as all of the happy times were stripped away from me. Eventually, all I could remember were the occasional fights.”   
  
 _Of course_  Hermione thought sadly. As if the pain of losing James and Lily wasn’t enough, his years left in the hands of the Dementors would have warped everything. Azkaban was assured to be no place for a person to properly grieve loved ones. Her heart broke a little more for this incredible wizard.   
  
“Oh, Sirius,” she whispered. “That’s awful.”   
  
He seemed unable to meet her gaze then, but continued almost matter-of-factly. “It all became very distorted and twisted in my mind. You lose all desire for… well, for physical satisfaction in there. You aren’t left with very much to be honest. It took a long time before, well I don’t wish to be crude or embarrass you, but it was awhile before I… was myself again. I think that kiss was the first reminder of what I had been denying myself. Still, it was quite a while before it became an actual hardship.”   
  
“A hardship?” she asked, and then swallowed, suddenly remembering why they were even having this conversation. He was explaining… explaining his behaviour towards her.   
  
 _Physical satisfaction… reminder of what he’d been denying himself… hardship… oh. Could she be any more dense?_  she wondered, then forced herself to catch up to Sirius’ rambling words that followed.  
  
“I’ve been struggling for months,” he confessed. “I never meant to fall again, ever again actually. You weren’t supposed to have this affect on me, Hermione. But after I was such a – well, a bloody arse to you the other night, that Bulgarian of yours confronted me about it. You see, I had come up to your room to apologize, right after… well, right after using the stone.”   
  
Apparently just days prior, Sirius had inadvertently unlocked the Snitch Dumbledore had left Harry in his will, finding the Resurrection Stone that had been hidden inside. He hadn’t kept it a secret that he’d used it and spoken to James and Lily, but now this information held a whole new meaning. As Hermione digested what must have happened, and how things must have looked to Sirius that day, she cringed in understanding.   
  
“Oh, Sirius,” she sighed with a shake of her head. It was becoming at least somewhat clearer. “You’ve been so… well, rather moody towards me for so long, to be honest. I couldn’t understand – I thought that after everything… I thought you’d be relieved to see I’d found someone, and then maybe we’d at least get to be friends. I had no idea why you were attacking me, until - ” she stopped herself, feeling her cheeks warm. It wouldn’t do for him to know she’d pegged his jealousy the moment he’d called Viktor ‘the enemy.’ Not now, anyway.  
  
“-Until?” Sirius quirked an eyebrow teasingly.   
  
Hermione frowned and bit her lip, muttering, “Never mind.”   
  
As if deciding not to press the matter, Sirius explained further. “When I used the Resurrection Stone, James and Lily…” He sighed softly. “Well, they told me that I had never done anything wrong, that they loved me and there was nothing to forgive. They told me to move on with my life, that they wanted me to be happy, that I had a chance at – at what they had, and they told me that it wasn’t too late.”   
  
Just as it had almost a year prior, Hermione’s world tilted, and she truly was not sure if this was real or not. She couldn’t,  _wouldn’t_  risk assuming incorrectly, even for a second, and she was suddenly quite grateful that Sirius remained seated a safe distance from her, so her thoughts were her own. She repeated everything he’d just told her in her head, trying to pick apart his words and find where he surely must mean something other than what she’d gleaned.   
  
When she didn’t speak for several moments, Sirius asked softly, “Am I too late Hermione? Have I fucked this up beyond any hope? I would happily spend the rest of whatever time I have left trying to make it up to you…”   
  
“No…” The word whispered past her lips before she could even consider it, and she felt her cheeks redden at the slip-up.  _Well, there goes that,_  Hermione thought, and straightened her back, prepared to either face this head-on, or step quietly around it in case it was somehow a very huge, strange, mix-up. Deciding to put the focus back on him, she said, “I’m so sorry, Sirius. I had no idea you were torturing yourself that way.”   
  
“But there’s hope?” Sirius quietly asked, insistently staying on-topic. “You would give me a chance?”   
  
Hermione thought about his question, and realized that, whether her mind liked it or not, there was only one answer. She couldn’t tell him ‘no,’ because she couldn’t control or stop her feelings for him now any more than she could a year and a half ago.   
  
“I’m in love with you,” she finally said quietly. She knew those words were not to be thrown around lightly, and usually were supposed to come much later in a  _relationship,_ not confessed like this before they’d even so much as properly kissed. But he already knew her feelings, because the hat that got her into this mess wouldn’t have had the effect it had were it anything less than ‘love’. And though she wasn’t quite able to meet his eyes with this confession, she refused to hide her own truth from him. If he wanted her, he would have to accept all of her, and that meant this above all else. She frowned unhappily at the dingy carpet. “What choice do I have?” she added softly, because really, she had no more choice in her feelings for him than he did, regardless of their level of convenience or appropriateness.   
  
Sirius didn’t speak, but after a moment he stood and crossed the room. Hermione found she couldn’t quite raise her gaze to meet his as he joined her on the couch, placing himself at a decidedly chaste distance from her. She braced herself for his next words, which would most likely be unpleasant no matter what. She was confident now that they wouldn’t suffer a repeat of his tirade in the study so long ago, but the idea of his pity or consolation speech was even less appealing.   
  
 _This will all be over soon_ , she promised herself. Either she’d die in battle, or she’d leave shortly after they won. She could endure this. The silence, though, was really becoming too much to bear. Not even knowing why, Hermione blurted out, “I didn’t with Viktor - ”   
  
“I don’t need to know,” Sirius interrupted in a surprisingly gentle tone.  
  
“Oh.”  _What next, then?_  she wondered.   
  
“I’d like to focus on us,” he said then, and reached for her hand. It was not at all what she was expecting. In fact, now she truly didn’t know  _what_  to expect, and she felt suddenly very thin-skinned. She let Sirius take her hand, and she was somewhat surprised and annoyed to realize it was trembling. Worse still, he noticed this as well.  
  
“I don’t scare you, do I?” he asked softly. “I just want to talk to you, and not have to think about the world outside for a bit, or the other people in this house.”   
  
 _Scare me?_  Hermione nearly rolled her eyes.   
  
“No,” she replied immediately, forcing herself to relax.  _He_  wasn’t what scared her, but the fact that this was even happening made her doubt her own sanity, and that certainly was a fear. She needed answers. “But, for you… when? I mean how-? You weren’t interested in me before.” She asked frankly, and shook her head in disbelief.   
  
Sirius sighed. “You’ve got three grown men panting circles around you, Hermione. Have you not realized how beautiful, how desirable you are?”   
  
 _‘Panting in circles’? Honestly!_  she thought, before catching herself. This is exactly what Lavender and the twins used to scold her about, not realizing her own attractiveness. A quick glance to Sirius’ face told her he was not exaggerating, and she suddenly felt that infuriatingly telltale flush warm her neck and cheeks again.  _Why the bloody hell did he have to have that effect on her?_  Hermione wondered in frustration. “Not really,” she mumbled. “That was never me, you know?”   
  
She watched as if hypnotized as he slowly brought her hand to his lips. The feel of first his breath, then his lips and stubbled chin against her fingers sent shudders through her whole body. “It’s you now, kitten,” he murmured against her skin, the movement nearly causing her to swoon ridiculously.   
  
 _This is really, really…_ not _happening,_  she insisted silently. Sirius, sitting next to her on this ancient couch, doing no more than kissing her bloody hand and creating more of a fire in her than Viktor ever elicited despite his skill and sense of romance… Hermione suddenly had the sense that she’d fallen asleep reading one of her regency romance novels, because Sirius Black most certainly was not the type to ‘court’ a witch with these old fashioned, almost chaste gestures… or was he?  _Only one way to find out,_  she thought in bewilderment, and simply asked.  
  
“Is this really me?” Her voice was faint and as dazed as she felt. “Is this really us?”   
  
“Do you want it to be?” he asked simply in response.  
  
 _Oh hell,_  she thought then. Either way she won, right? “Yes, of course, I just - ”  
  
“May I kiss you?” he interrupted suddenly.  
  
“What? Oh... do you want to?” she asked distractedly. The very idea of his lips was causing her insides to tremble and he wanted her  _permission_?  
  
“It’s just that we’ve only had the one, and I’d really like to try again.” Sirius explained.   
  
“Yes, yes you may,” she answered in a clear and proper grant to his request, though her voice trembled slightly, betraying the part of her that was screaming at him to just shut up and do it already.   
  
Without moving on her he leaned over and chastely pressed his lips to hers, almost a peck, but slower. He held himself there for a moment and then pulled back slightly.  
  
 _Not enough,_  she thought faintly, not moving from her position. She kept her eyes closed, because if this  _was_  a dream, that was typically where she’d wake up, and she just wasn’t ready for that yet. She was rewarded with another touch of his lips, and taking matters into her own hands just slightly, she moved against him, pressing back.   
  
When he pulled away a second time, her heart sank a little. She wasn’t ready to wake up just yet, but when he whispered, “Like that?” her eyes finally fluttered open and a disappointed ‘Oh’, escaped her, even though he was, in fact still right there.   
  
“What?” he asked.  
  
Her mind was still coming to grips with the fact that this very well might be really happening. And if it was, then where was  _the_  kiss – the one from Christmas, the soul scorching, bone melting, all-consuming kiss, damn it?  
  
“Is that all?” she finally asked.   
  
Sirius seemed to choke a little, and Hermione wondered if he was really that surprised. Yes, she was still a virgin, but she did know how to snog, at the very least!   
  
“No,” he murmured and then he did move closer. He rested one hand on her hip, the other he lay gently on her neck, fingers stroking the soft skin there as he pressed his mouth to hers once again.   
  
One soft dry kiss turned into two, and then three. His lips moved purposefully over hers now, but he was still holding back, she could tell. Truth be told, she was holding back, too – as much as she wanted  _more_ , there was still part of her that was badly burned from that first disastrous kiss. She’d already exposed more than was probably necessary in words and she didn’t want to scare him off, but he was still there, so she decided to be patient and wait.   
  
He nipped at her lower lip, sending delightful little chills through her. She sighed silently when she felt his tongue finally trace oh so lightly across her lips, and she let her hands slide up his arms in encouragement. The low rumble that rolled out of his chest sent shivers along her spine, making her realize she had some effect on him, too.   
  
 _Oh,_  she thought dizzily,  _here we are…_  as she parted her lips to him and his tongue curled along hers deliciously. This was decidedly  _not_  a dream – it was too detailed, the smells and textures and sounds and tastes – she’d dreamt of him before, and surely fantasized, but never had she imagined his taste, a faint hint of firewhiskey and cinnamon, as if he’d taken a shot before their meeting and then brushed his teeth. And in her dreams or fantasies, well, he was never in such a clearly uncomfortable position as he tried to kiss her.  
  
Coming up for air, Hermione pulled back with a frown. “Sirius,” she tried to say, but it came out breathy and weak as a result of the little nips he was planting along her jaw line. The path his mouth was traveling was obviously stilted by their awkward seating arrangement, however.   
  
“Are you comfortable?” she finally managed to ask. “You don’t look comfortable.”  
  
“Not especially,” he murmured against her, “But I’ll manage.”   
  
“Can I –” She pressed against him, trying to push him back into a better position for both of them.   
  
“Can you what?” he asked, his words muffled against the skin along her neck, the movements of his lips there causing her eyes to lose focus momentarily.   
  
“I – I can’t think,” she muttered feebly.  
  
“That  _is_  the general idea,” he said in a smug tone.   
  
Hermione gasped as he sucked gently against her pulse point.  _How in Merlin’s name does he already know?_  she wondered as his lips teased her weak spot.  _More…_  she thought hungrily, and pushed at him harder while exposing more of her neck to his skilled lips and tongue.   
  
“Sit back,” she panted.  
  
“Happy where I am,” Sirius growled playfully against her throat, traveling lower now, but the angle was still clumsy and frustrating.   
  
Giving up coyness and hints, Hermione said as clearly as possible through her uneven breaths, “I want to sit in your lap.”   
  
Apparently those were the magic words, as faster than she could blink, he had them positioned far more comfortably, to both of their liking. She sighed and arched against him as his hand slid up the back of her shirt, his fingers stroking her bare skin while his other hand cradled her neck possessively. Her fingers hungrily found his hair - that ridiculously soft black hair that they’d craved since the first time they’d touched it, while her other hand rested against his muscled chest, just where his heart beat beneath her.   
  
 _Here_  was the proper kiss she’d been wanting; only now it was real,  _true_ , not some meddling manipulation of a charm. Hermione couldn’t decide which was better, his mouth against her own, their tongues twining together in a slow but fierce dance, or his lips and teeth and tongue teasing along the exposed skin of her neck.   
  
She pressed closer to him as his mouth trailed along her jaw to nuzzle and tease at her ear. She felt like she couldn’t get enough of him, like every cell of her body hungered to come in contact with his. As she moved against him, she grazed against his hardness and let out an involuntary moan, feeling her insides melt into liquid heat with a vague sense of wonder. It was the exact opposite reaction she’d had to Viktor in a very similar scenario. Clearly her body had its made up where Sirius was concerned. Her head, on the other hand....   
  
“I want you,” Sirius hissed along her skin suddenly.   
  
 _Oh._  “Oh,” Hermione breathed out loud, going completely still.  _Too soon,_  her brain quietly cautioned, even as her most intimate places clenched hungrily.   
  
“What’s wrong? I thought you - ” he started, his voice rushed and filled with an awkward and endearing concern.  
  
“I do,” Hermione blurted, despite her internal struggle.   
  
 _What the bloody hell are you doing, Granger?_  that little voice admonished, reminding her of how far she’d come, how hard she’d worked to recover from the very man whose lap she was currently straddling. She looked down into his face, those delicious lips and strong jaw, those silver eyes filled with so many questions.   
  
Life was too short to pass up some opportunities, even on a good day, without the impending threat of death and destruction hanging over her their heads. She was leaving tomorrow, and while it seemed like a fairly simple mission, she was no fool. Sirius had insisted on restricting Harry to Grimmauld Place for months now, and she knew he of all people would never do such a thing unless it was absolutely necessary. She was leaving with Harry and Ron in the morning, and the truth of the matter was that there was a very real possibility they might not see the end of the week. That had been the reality for months now, but they’d been safely holed up in hiding for that time.   
  
Furthermore, she was eighteen, for Merlin’s sake, and here was everything she’d fantasized for the past year and a half seated right between her legs.   
  
 _Oh gods,_  she realized all of a sudden, nervous excitement mingling with molten desire. _This is really going to happen…_  Further, she realized she very much  _wanted_  it to happen, to hell with the consequences she’d face later.  
  
“I do,” she repeated, her voice stronger now. “I just have never…you know…” She faltered, unsure of how to say it.  _Imagined in my wildest dreams this would really happen, that my first time would be with the man after whom I’ve lusted for months on end - ?_  She almost cringed and felt her cheeks warm at the very idea of confessing something like that.  
  
His kiss was fierce and when he pulled away, he murmured a promise to be gentle, causing Hermione to almost roll her eyes again. She was still a virgin, and she couldn’t deny the butterflies that were fluttering in her stomach, but  _dear Morgana_ , if he tried to treat her like some fragile little flower, she was certain she’d lose her mind. The thought quickly slipped away as he dipped his head to her ear, muttering and biting along her neck in a way that made her whimper with need.  
  
“ _Please,_  she keened softly, her patience quickly unraveling.   
  
“Hold tight,” he whispered, wrapping her limbs around him as he stood, cupping her arse with one hand and her back with the other as he turned and Apparated them to the seclusion of a bedroom on the topmost floor of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.  
  



	6. The Morning After

  
Hermione gasped, her head spinning with the unexpectedly erotic sensation of Apparition squeezing them even more intimately together. Just as suddenly, though, it was gone and she found herself on her feet, looking around the bedroom she’d always wondered about but had never seen firsthand.   
  
Before she could even register it, Sirius had shrugged out of his shirt and she found herself breathless at the feel of his bare flesh as he pulled her close again, his lips feeding on hers hungrily. She smiled against him as he clumsily walked her backwards to the bed, stumbling slightly in their haste. When the backs of her knees hit the mattress, they buckled and she dropped to the bed gracelessly, quickly followed by Sirius as he kneeled over her.   
  
Hermione bit her lip in nervousness mixed with amusement as he made quick work of her clothes.   
  
 _So much for ‘too soon’,_  she thought wryly, as Sirius pulled her jeans down over her legs and tossed them carelessly on the floor. For some strange reason, an image of Fred’s mischievous smirk flashed briefly across her mind. It was Sirius’ chuckle, however, that brought a slight frown to her face.  _What was so funny about seeing her in her underclothes?_  she wondered with an unhappy lurch to her insides.  
  
“You matched your knickers and your bra,” Sirius said, his voice thick with amusement.   
  
 _Beauty and confidence start on the inside,_  Lavender’s voice echoed back to her. Hermione  _always_  matched her undergarments now, as a general rule.   
  
“Yes, so?” she asked, feeling somewhat defensive. She leaned up on her elbows and glanced down at the Gryffindor red and gold plaid knickers and bra. They were one of her favourite sets.   
  
“It’s quite fetching,” Sirius said with a teasing grin. “Though I never took you for a Scot.”  
  
 _I didn’t do it for_ you _, anyway_ , she almost retorted, but settled for merely scowling up at the gorgeous older wizard standing between her legs.   
  
A movement caught her eye and her gazed dropped to his crotch where his hand was slowly rubbing along the rather prominent bulge in his jeans.   
  
 _Merlin,_  she thought, her mouth going dry. Then,  _is he just going to stand there?_  Her eyes drifted up his bare torso, hungrily taking in his well-cut abdominal muscles, tracing over the tattoos on his chest that she dearly wanted to touch and taste, up his perfectly delicious neck, then his face, finally meeting his storm grey gaze again.   
  
“I think all your underthings should be tartan,” Sirius said hoarsely.   
  
Hermione smirked. “Maybe they are,” she threw back, tossing her hair over her shoulder in a move that would make Lavender, Parvati, Fred, and George all proud.   
  
“I can’t wait to find out,” he replied in a low purr that would have made her melt if not for the fact that he  _still_  wasn’t taking the bait.  _What the bloody hell was he waiting for?_ Hermione frowned. Sirius in turn fidgeted and rubbed at himself again. If she didn’t know any better…  
  
“You’re nervous too, aren’t you?” she asked slowly.   
  
Sirius looked mortified. “Bad form, I know. It’s been a while,” he said apologetically.  
  
 _What in Merlin’s name did_ he _have to be nervous about, though?_  she wondered.  _She_ was the one with her heart and virginity on the line, here. And yet, still he stood there. It was rather bizarre. Finally, she decided to try logic.   
  
“You already know that I’m in love with you,” she began, then cringed inwardly, quickly adding, “Which isn’t my way of trying to prompt you to say it back, but I do need you to know what is at stake for me.” She hoped he would understand her meaning, because really – if, all things considered, she’d made it this far, then he hardly had anything to be worried about…  
  
“I really… I really think I love you, too,” Sirius replied, surprising Hermione. She held her reaction in check, however. ‘I  _think_  I love you’ was not the same as a full-out declaration. Instead, she chewed at the inside of her cheek while he continued.   
  
“It just took me so long to see it.” Sirius ran a hand agitatedly through his hair. “Look,” he said, “I’ve done enough damage, don’t you think? Hard as a rock or no, we would not be up here if I wasn’t prepared for the consequences.”  
  
“Consequences,” Hermione repeated. She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. It sounded too much for her taste like she was some frail thing who had to be treated with kid gloves. She frowned.  
  
“Outcome, then?” Sirius tried. “End result - ? I’m saying that I do understand the significance of what this could all mean. I don’t regard your heart lightly, Hermione.”   
  
 _Ah._  “Thank you,” she said, touched by his admission, even if that wasn’t quite where she was headed. Attempting to pull the conversation back to the matter at hand, she finally just said outright, “I’m confused about something, though. We both know why I’m nervous, but why are you?”  
  
Sirius’ reaction was obvious frustration. He looked at her briefly, pivoted on his heel, stepped out from between her legs, and flopped onto the bed, sighing loudly.  
  
 _Oh good Godric,_  she thought exasperatedly. She supposed it was foolish to think that the twenty years he had on her would be equal to maturity. She wondered briefly if she was going to have to completely steer this ship. She turned to look at him. “Would you really rather not tell me why?” she asked gently, hoping that her tone would help him relax and open up. “ _The Joy of Sex_  says that intimacy is more enjoyable if partners communicate. Although, this is all new as we haven’t coupled yet. I - ”  
  
“ _Coupled?_ ” Sirius interrupted in an amused tone.   
  
“You know what I mean, Sirius,” Hermione said and looked away briefly, feeling a telltale warmth creep up her neck.  _At least she was trying to move things forward,_  she thought petulantly.  
  
“I’m going to have to expand your vocabulary,” he teased.   
  
“Expand from where? The gutter?” she retorted smartly, raising an eyebrow at him.  
  
“With any luck,” he replied, grinning openly.  
  
She couldn’t help the small twitch at the corners of her mouth before continuing. “I think I know why you’re stalling.  _The Joy of Sex_  says - ”  
  
“Yes, and what is that – ‘ _The Joy of Sex_ ’?” he interrupted again.  
  
“A book,” she said simply, without embarrassment.   
  
“A  _book_? You  _studied_  sex?” he asked, incredulous.   
  
She stoutly refused to let herself feel self-conscious about it, however. “Just the theory…” Hermione answered, then added cautiously, “…mostly.” She wasn’t  _completely_ inexperienced, but she didn’t feel the need to share details at that moment.   
  
“Well,” she continued in a rush, “I’ve found that understanding the theory helps a lot in learning magic, and I suppose it was just habit. The point that  _you_  are trying to escape is that I think I know why you’re nervous. Would you like to hear it?” She was prepared to tell him, regardless.  
  
Sirius’ mouth curved into a sort of half-grin. “I am interested in the  _theory,_  yes,” he answered.  
  
Hermione took a deep breath in preparation for probably the most personal thing she’d ever said to anyone. “Well, I never realized that you practiced such strict abstinence. If you haven’t had sex since 1981, I would imagine you’re worried you won’t last.”  
  
When Sirius merely gaped at her, a rare blush painting his cheeks, Hermione came to a decision.   
  
“Take off your jeans,” she said. She could hardly believe she was doing this, but as it stood, the situation seemed to call for it, and Sirius certainly didn’t seem to have any better ideas.  
  
“Pardon?” Sirius’ eyebrows shot up into the black hair hanging casually over his brow.   
  
“Your jeans, off, now,” Hermione commanded, fighting back an impatient huff. The grin that threatened still twitched at her lips, however.  
  
“Bossy,” he muttered, even as he stood, his hands reaching for his fly.   
  
His eyes bored into hers as his fingers slowly flicked the metal button through the denim hole, then slid the zipper down its track. The heat in his silver gaze seemed to spread through her body and trickle down her spine, and she found herself sitting up and tucking her legs beneath her in anticipation.   
  
With his jeans kicked across the floor, all that remained were his black silk boxers, tented out in front of him in such a way that she could even glimpse a small bit of flesh peeking through the opening. Hermione’s blood was pounding in her veins, her heart thumping in time with the throbbing between her legs.   
  
“Boxers, too,” she said in a soft, clear voice, despite the dryness in her mouth and the trembling she felt inside. She found herself utterly transfixed as he bent over, slowly pushing the soft material down his legs then straightening again as he tossed the garment casually over his shoulder.   
  
 _Oh, Merlin,_  Hermione thought breathlessly. He was utterly gorgeous, and the sight of his hand gripping himself, slowly smoothing down his length, sent another jolt of aching heat through her.   
  
“What does your book say to do now, kitten?” he asked, and for a moment, Hermione thought she’d forgotten how to speak.   
  
“Just what you’re doing now,” she answered unsteadily, unable to tear her eyes away from his fingers as they stroked his hardness. She had never felt more aroused in her life, just watching him like this, knowing he would soon reach his climax, and because of _her_. It was arousing, and  _heady_.   
  
“Hermione, I really won’t last if I keep doing this,” Sirius said, even as his hand continued its slow, steady movements.   
  
She would have laughed if not for the flood of various thoughts floating around her head. All of the different positions and techniques she’d read about, scenarios she’d fantasized while touching herself… she let her fingers drift along her inner thigh. “Yes,” she said absently, with a nod. “That’s the idea…”  
  
“You  _want_  me to come?” Sirius’ hand stopped.  
  
“Of course I do,” Hermione answered.  _Why else would she have asked him to do this?_ she wondered, almost amused. “Then you can relax and ‘teach’ me how to have sex,” she explained, surprised she even had to.  
  
“Put your theories into practice?” Sirius rumbled softly before continuing his movements, his strokes faster and more purposeful now.   
  
 _Oh, my,_  she thought, her body filling with heat as she watched him. She slowly nodded in reply.  
  
“You like watching me, don’t you, kitten?” he murmured, and again she nodded, letting her fingers drift closer to her swollen heat. She supposed she shouldn’t be so brazen, but then again, he was pleasing himself, too…  
  
“Don’t,” Sirius growled suddenly, startling her. “That’s mine.”  
  
Hermione froze, her pulse beating a staccato rhythm at the possessive, commanding tone in his voice.   
  
“That’s right,” he said meaningfully, “ _Mine._ ”  
  
 _Oh, gods…_  the tension between her legs was nearly unbearable, and she could feel how wet she’d become. If he didn’t do something soon…  
  
“Sirius, please - hurry,” she whispered.  
  
“Tell me what you want,” he hissed between his teeth, his whole body radiating tension.  
  
“I – what?” Hermione asked, uncertain of what he wanted from her.  
  
“Tell me!” he snarled, and realization dawned in Hermione.  
  
“Come, Sirius,” she whispered desperately. “ _Please_ …” She was practically shaking now, as she watched him reach his completion. When he finally came with a harsh sound that was almost a growl, she let out an involuntary little squeak at the droplets of white that splattered across her legs.   
  
The surprising little mess was briefly forgotten as he fell before her at an angle, his legs leaning into the mattress and hands holding up his large frame. His head hung between his shoulders, eyes closed, and he was panting heavily.   
  
Hermione raised her fingers to his face, tentatively at first. She was somewhat concerned, but mostly awed by the sheer, raw passion she’d just witnessed. It wasn’t the first time she’d ever seen a member of the opposite sex masturbate – while she may not have been popular with the boys at Hogwarts, she  _had_  been noticed outside the wizarding community as she’d matured. However, that one other time was nothing like this, nothing at all. She never would have imagined a man bringing himself off would be so moving, and… well,  _beautiful._    
  
Her touch became surer, as she tried to coax his head up to look at her. All of a sudden, a laugh escaped him that was so open, so genuinely joyful, it tugged at her heart. She always did love Sirius’ bark-like laugh, but this was a sound she’d never heard from him. When he finally looked up at her, the smile on his face nearly took her breath away. Clearly something had happened inside of him with that one climactic experience, but she had no chance to even question it as he suddenly pounced, forcing her back onto the bed, his lips barely brushing hers.  
  
“Oh, kitten,” Sirius growled softly. “The things I’m going to do for you…”  
  


~~

  
  
The room was still dark – morning in its pre-dawn hour, when she opened her eyes the next day. The dim orange of the fireplace, charmed to stay lit and warm throughout the night, cast its soft flickering light throughout the room, illuminating just enough for her to see, even though she didn’t need to. The scent and feel of the body she was curled into served as an immediate reminder.  
  
A joyful disbelief filled her heart and soul when she realized that this was real. It wasn’t just a dream that happened to be far more detailed and involved than any other. It was real – so  _very_  real, as evidenced by the arm that curled possessively around her waist, holding her so close to him she doubted there was an inch of their flesh that wasn’t touching.  
  
Hermione let her eyes wander over the tattooed planes of Sirius’ muscled chest, a lazy smile playing across her lips.  _No wizard his age should look this delicious,_  she thought with amusement. Her smile faded into a tiny frown, however, as she realized it would never do to say such a thing to him. Not now, at least, while he so clearly had it in his head that she was still so young and naïve, practically a child. The last thing she needed was more of him thinking he was ‘too old’ for her. He’d been her first, but Morgana knew, at eighteen, she was more than ready.  
  
Their lovemaking the previous night had been peppered with endearing honesty and foibles that were downright awkward at moments. Between her inexperience, and his two-decade-long abstinence, they’d made an almost comical pair. Poor thing seemed convinced to the very end that she was some wide-eyed shivering little innocent, despite the fact that her  _book-knowledge_  on the matters of sex clearly outweighed his. Still, he had made good on his word. She smirked with satisfaction at the pleasant soreness between her thighs. Oh yes, he’d certainly ‘done things for her’, and  _to_  her.   
  
Hermione shifted slightly and froze as the leg she had draped over Sirius’ thigh brushed against his fully erect cock. She glanced up at his face to find he was still fast asleep. A wicked grin slowly spread across her face as opportunity reared its purple-tinged, bulbous head. Sirius had spent so much of last night ‘instructing’ her through her first time, she never had a chance to tell, or  _show_  him, that she wasn’t completely clueless.  
  
Slowly, she slid down his body, taking great care not to wake him, intent on using his sleeping state to her advantage. Positioning herself at his hip, she tilted her head, eyeing his erection hungrily. The memory of how he felt inside of her sent a jolt between her legs, despite the tenderness there.   
  
 _‘No hymen’ indeed,_  Hermione recalled, and rolled her eyes with a smirk. Honestly! Had he expected her to cry and cringe? It wasn’t the same as it was with her fingers, of course, but it wasn’t as though she’d never pleasured herself in that way at all. Of course, her fingers could never compare to  _that,_  and  _oh, Merlin - his mouth…_  
  
She swallowed and licked her lips, casting another quick glance up at the face of her sleeping wizard.   
  
 _Paybacks, ‘Professor’ Black,_  she thought with a mischievous grin and leaned in, slowly dragging her tongue from the base of his cock to the tip before tracing a wet circle around the head. She smiled, noticing the slight change in his breathing, then flicked her tongue lightly across the top, tasting the slight saltiness there. The very idea of tasting _more_  of him, of bringing him off completely with her mouth, sent a heavy warm feeling to her core.   
  
She licked her lips again, making sure they were as wet as possible before taking him in her mouth.  _Oh, this is lovely,_  she thought with a quiet sigh, sliding further down his length and back up again. She did this a couple more times, attempting to take as much of him as she could, the head of his cock bumping the back of her throat at one point, before speeding up her movements, twirling her tongue around the head every time she came to the tip.   
  
At some point, Sirius became more aware of what was going on and shifted his legs, leaving her room to crawl in between for a better angle. Hermione leaned in, one hand wrapped around the base of his erection now as she balanced her weight on her elbows. The new angle forced her hips up in the air as she continued sucking and licking at Sirius’ hardness. The position left her sex blatantly exposed, making her feel deliciously wanton.  
  
She squeezed her thighs together and moaned softly as she felt sudden fingers gently tangling themselves in her hair. The helpless sounds that met her ears as Sirius awoke filled her with a heady sense of power. An image flashed in her mind from the previous night: Sirius’ smug grin as he raised his head from between her legs. Suddenly she understood perfectly.   
  
“Hermione… oh, sweet kitten… I’m - ”  
  
His desperate whispers were cut short by another hard gasp as she increased her speed, both mouth and hand pumping along his length, refusing to let him gain control. The muscles in his thighs clenched and he cried out her name just as she felt the warm salty tang of his release spilling over her tongue. She moaned around his hardness, sucking his climax from him as he arched into her, grunting and swearing hoarsely.   
  
Only when Sirius’ jerking movements calmed down and he was growing soft did she finally pull away, smirking up at the addled expression on his face.   
  
“I – you… what…” he panted stupidly before grabbing her by the arms and pulling her up over his body to lay flush against him. With a harsh growl, he kissed her, his tongue curling against hers almost as if he was trying to steal the taste of himself from her mouth. When he finally pulled away, he shook his head with a look of wonder.   
  
“ _Gods,_  little witch – you’re so fucking incredible. One minute you’re this shy little - ”  
  
Hermione scowled and pressed her fingers against his lips. “Sirius,” she interrupted, somewhat irritated. When he raised his eyebrows at her in question, she took a deep breath and continued.   
  
“I’m not a child,” she said emphatically. “Yes, you’re my first, and yes I am – well, rather pathetically in love with you. But I’m not some shivering, frightened little flower with absolutely no knowledge of how sex is supposed to work. Do you honestly think I pored over books like  _The Joy of Sex_  because I felt I  _had_  to?”   
  
He gave a tiny frown and an almost imperceptible shake of his head. She glanced briefly down at his mouth, her fingertips absently moving across his upper lip. She looked back up into his curious grey eyes and sighed.  _The things she had to explain sometimes…_  
  
“I’m  _eighteen_ , Sirius – an adult. I know that seems young to you. But, well… don’t you remember what was it like… at this age?” she asked, hesitant to bring up painful memories, but needing to get her point across that her age and lack of practical experience didn’t make her some terrified little innocent on the matter. And if he could recall that Lily Evans Potter was evidently taking on two wizards at once at her age, well…  
  
 _Oh, my,_  Hermione thought, flushing hotly at that sudden idea.   
  
She felt her cheeks burn even more as his lips curled into a knowing smirk against her fingers. Faster than she could think, he flipped them over, his knee pressed between her legs, her wrists loosely pinned to the mattress by his big, strong hands.   
  
“And what  _is_  it like, princess?” he whispered dangerously against her lips.   
  
“I – I just meant… hormones!” she squeaked.  
  
Sirius nodded slowly in understanding, although his eyes were dark with intent.   
  
“Hormones,” he repeated, sliding a hand down her arm, pausing to graze his thumb over her nipple.   
  
He hummed thoughtfully as she arched into his touch. “And these…  _‘hormones’_  - how do they make you feel?”  
  
Her breath broke into short little pants as he rolled that peaked tip between his thumb and forefinger, dipping his head down to the other one, but hovering just above it. She could feel his breath, hot and damp against her…  
  
“Tell me,” he demanded softly, looking up at her from under the curtain of hair that fell across his brow. The expression in his eyes was challenging and smug. “After all,” he said, his lips barely brushing her skin, “doesn’t your book say we should  _talk?_ ”  
  
“Tense,” Hermione gasped, closing her eyes as his tongue lightly flicked across her sensitive nipple.   
  
“And - ?”  
  
“And… and… needy,” she sighed, as he rewarded her with his lips. She slid her free hand over his shoulder to cup the back of his neck, her fingers curling into his hair.  
  
“ _Needy_?” he asked in a teasing tone, even as he moved his head against her hand. She’d already learned he loved to be scratched, and she lightly dragged her nails across his scalp, smiling at the small, contented growl that rumbled from him.   
  
Hermione whimpered softly as his hand left her to slide down her waist, then grasped her hip almost possessively before his fingers stroked lazy patterns along her skin. He inched down her body slightly, resting his other arm at her side.   
  
 _Not enough touching,_  she complained silently. When she opened her eyes, she found Sirius looking up at her with an expectant smirk.   
  
“And what about now? Are you ‘tense’ and ‘needy’ now, my love?” he asked, his thumb tracing softly along the crease where her thigh met her pelvis.   
  
Her bottom lip quivered just barely before she sucked it between her teeth. “Yes,” she finally sighed desperately. She supposed she asked for this – she’d wanted him to grasp that she wasn’t some scared little child, and now he was going to push her. It seemed like every interaction she’d ever had with this gorgeous and infuriating wizard had this element of challenge to it. She loved it so much…  
  
She inhaled sharply as he gave another lap, then a light nip, to her breast before kissing and nibbling his way back up, nuzzling along her neck as he eased himself onto his side next to her. His hand was still lightly caressing along her thigh, teasing so closely to where she wanted him.   
  
“And what do you need?” he whispered against her ear, causing her eyes to lose focus for a second.   
  
She felt another wave of heat creep up her neck and through her cheeks as she realized he’d just checkmated her. She really didn’t know if she could say it out loud…  
  
“Do you need me to touch you?” he murmured gently, as if knowing her limitations.   
  
“Yes,” she whispered pleadingly. It was so difficult, yet so arousing to mutter such a truth.  
  
His hand slid between her parted legs and he cupped her lightly, his fingers resting just on the surface. Hermione was certain she’d start hyperventilating soon if he didn’t give her more than this.   
  
“Here?” he teased, tracing the shell of her ear with his lips.   
  
“ _Gods_ , yes,” she hissed, moving against his hand. She gave a soft cry as he slipped just one finger between her folds, sliding it along her moist heat until he stopped, pressing the pad of his finger against her aching clit.   
  
“ _Merlin,_  you’re wet,” he rasped, biting tenderly along her jaw line. “Did sucking my cock turn you on so much, kitten?” he asked giving a teasing little stroke.   
  
Hermione’s eyes widened, not so much at the explicit question, but at how his words worked like a drug on her, sending a wave of heat all the way down her spine. “Yeah…” she breathed through parted lips, moving into his hand again in hopes of encouraging him.   
  
“Because it was bloody amazing, you know,” Sirius continued, his finger massaging in slow, tantalizing circles. “Did you learn that from your book?”  
  
Hermione opened her mouth again, but only a gasp came out as he added a second finger, sliding them both in long sweeping strokes along her slit.   
  
“Wonder what else you’ve read about,” he murmured, sliding his other arm under her to cradle her neck, freeing that hand to sneak around and fondle her breast while he continued slowly teasing her clit.   
  
“What else is in that book of yours, princess?” he pressed, his lips and teeth nibbling along her neck.   
  
“P-positions…” Hermione gasped bravely.   
  
Sirius let out a low growl of approval and licked at the sweet spot where her neck met her collar. “Well, well, well. We’ll simply have to try them all,” he purred, dipping his finger just inside her entrance and massaging gently, while he continued to rub that sensitive button of nerves.   
  
Hermione merely whimpered, a shiver coursing through her at his words as well as his fingers. Taking her cue, Sirius then proceeded to whisper as many filthily detailed ideas as he could into her ear, some she’d fantasized about, and others that would have normally made her blush but now only fueled the searing hot flames that were licking at her insides. All the while, his fingers worked on her with an artful precision, pulling her to dizzying heights.  
  
She moaned and rocked into his palm, her hands clenching the bed sheets at her sides as the delicious tension in her reached its pinnacle.   
  
“That’s it, love, come for me,” he whispered encouragingly, biting gently at her lips before kissing her hard, just as the first wave of her orgasm crashed over her.  
  
When she finally caught her breath, she looked over to see Sirius with his head propped up on his elbow, a tender smile on his face. She grinned sheepishly back at him.   
  
“You’re breathtaking, you know,” he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity.   
  
Hermione wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, and she felt her face go warm. Sirius grinned and stroked a knuckle along her cheek before leaning in and kissing her lazily. Lazy turned to loving turned to passionate, until finally he chuckled and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her and tugging the covers up over them both. 


	7. The Rescue

  
_The memories of all that had happened behind Sirius’ bedroom door that night came back to her in a flood of heated flashes, images so explicit, so tender, so loving – yes, he told her he loved her, many times, and in a way that made it the gospel truth… Images and memories so_ exquisite _\- she could recall every touch, sound, feeling in perfect detail. Her recollections combined with Sirius’ suggestive words and brought a warm flush to her face.  
  
She turned her attention back to his voice…  
  
“…our children, and our grandchildren, I saw years and years of building a life together, of making up for mistakes, of learning each other, of lovemaking and laughter and tears.” She could hear the smile in his voice now as he continued, “I saw us embarrassing our children by being naughty in front of them, the way my own parents used to embarrass Reg and me, and I saw…”  
  
Sirius paused suddenly. She felt his thumb trace along her cheek, then he muttered slowly, “You’re… _blushing _… Kitten-? Y-you can hear me… you – you are in there…” his voice was an urgent and tremulous whisper.  
  
Hermione realized then that the warm flush his words elicited must have made it through to her body somehow. _Yes! Yes I’m here! _she cried silently, struggling with renewed hope, but to no avail. While her cheeks may have reddened slightly, her limbs still felt leaden, and she couldn’t seem to even move a pinky.  
  
This mattered little, however, as Sirius’ joyful laugh rumbled briefly next to her before dying down. He spoke with a renewed purpose and determination. “I won’t let you stay stuck here, love. If I have travel the whole fucking globe to find an answer, I’ll get you back, I promise you. You just have to hang - ”  
  
“Mister Black?” a young female voice called from the doorway. Hermione recognized it instantly as one of the Patil sisters.   
  
“Not now,” Sirius answered quietly but firmly over his shoulder, before returning his lips to her fingertips.  
  
“W-we were hoping - ”  
  
“I said not now!” he snapped in an impatient bark. “You can come back tomorrow,” he added in a softer tone.  
  
“No.” This time it was Lavender Brown’s voice that came firm and clear.   
  
“Pardon?” Sirius asked warningly. “Who _are _you?”  
  
“We’re Hermione’s dorm mates,” Parvati answered. “We’re her friends.”  
  
“And we think we can help her,” came a similar but different voice, and Hermione realized with curiosity that both Padma and Parvati were present.   
  
She heard Sirius rise to his feet with a sigh. “That’s… very sweet, ladies, but Madam Pomfrey - ”  
  
“We heard Pomfrey talking about her with McGonagall just now,” Lavender interrupted in a frank and tactless tone. “They think she’s a lost case, that the Cruciatus curse must have destroyed her mind, even though she shows no signs that even resemble other cases.”  
  
“Yes, well people react differently - ” Sirius began wearily, despite his sudden renewed hope.  
  
“No, they don’t,” Lavender insisted, the crisp clicking of her low-heeled shoes coming nearer. “My Grandmum was head nurse of the fourth floor at St. Mungo’s for years. She was there for the first war, and saw every case of Cruciatus damage that came through those doors.” Her tone was slightly sheepish as she added, “I – well, when things started to get bad, I asked her about it. She said they were all the same - just like Neville’s parents, but most were worse, and none of them survived as long as the Longbottoms have. But not a single one of them was laid out like Sleeping Beauty as a result of the curse.”   
  
“She… has she not stirred at all – not even once?” Padma asked softly.  
  
“No,” Sirius whispered.  
  
“Mister Black – I know… well, everyone’s been talking about how you’ve not left Hogwarts since – since it happened,” she continued delicately. “So I know you obviously care for Hermione very much. But I – we, we were wondering if we might try something. I’ve actually seen her kind of like this before,” Padma added.  
  
Sirius took a patient breath. “I’m sorry, ladies. I do appreciate your concern, but I’m afraid I cannot allow you to just come in here and start casting spells over her - ”  
  
“No-no!,” Parvati interrupted. “Not magic,” she explained.   
  
“Then, what…” his voice was confused and wary.  
  
“Look, it’s just a hunch, and _maybe _I’m wrong,” Padma said slowly, though her tone was skeptical about the ‘wrong’ part. She was, after all, a Ravenclaw, and they seldom allowed themselves to have a wrong answer to anything. “But if I am, I promise you she won’t be any worse off than she is now.”  
  
“Please,” Lavender added softly.   
  
“No magic?” Sirius clarified.  
  
“We swear,” Padma answered eagerly. “I just want to talk to her. You don’t even have to leave, but I will need absolute quiet.”  
  
“I can watch the door,” Lavender offered.  
  
Taking another deep breath, Sirius finally said, “Alright.”  
  
Hermione could hear the odd sound of wood and metal clinking together before the scrape of chairs met her ears on either side of her. Both of her hands were taken in by two sets of soft, feminine hands, and the one on her right was squeezed softly.   
  
“Hey, Hermione, it’s Padma,” came the familiar but still exotic lilt of an Indian-British accent. “I think we both know you can probably hear me,” she said wryly. “Got yourself stuck again, did you?”  
  
_‘Again’? _Hermione wondered, and then remembering suddenly,_ Ohh… _  
  
“I remember when Parvati first invited you to practice yoga with us,” Padma continued with warmth amusement. “You promptly went off and read every book you could find on the subject. We were both quite surprised that you were so interested in the meditative and spiritual aspects of the practice, and even more surprised when you proved so adept at it. Too adept, really, and I seem to recall telling you that you were jumping in too fast, that it wasn’t something to rush, it required years of practice and patience. More than once you took longer than normal to pull out of a meditative state, and I suspected you were coming quite close to trancing. Remember when I found you after Dumbledore’s funeral?”  
  
Of course she remembered, now.   
  
The world had been turned upside down in a matter of days with the murder of Hogwarts’ beloved headmaster. ‘The war’ that she’d thought of and talked about for so long had truly begun, starting right there on school grounds. Whether the school would even remain open for next term was very much up in the air, but that was a moot point, as she, Ron, and Harry would not be returning.   
  
And then, amidst these very heavy and real concerns, there was Sirius Black and the frustrating discovery that, despite having not seen him at all since Christmas, she was no less affected by his presence. And how inappropriate - how shallow and weak and small was she for even paying him more than a passing thought right there in front of Dumbledore’s tomb?   
  
As soon as she’d been able, she’d excused herself from the crowd and found her favourite secluded spot on the other side of the grounds lake. It had all become too much and, finding a large tree to sit against, she sank to the ground and allowed all tension and thought to drip from her mind. Every time a worry or conscious thought crept up, she’d narrowed her focus even more on the steady in-out of her own breathing, until she was deep, deep inside of herself.   
  
It had been Padma who’d found her there, hours later. The twins had originally been pulled from Hogwarts immediately after Dumbledore’s death, but they’d managed to convince their parents to allow them to return for the funeral.   
  
Hermione hadn’t even been aware of just how deeply she’d gotten herself until the Ravenclaw’s voice had broken into her silence. When she’d found herself unable to physically respond, Padma had knowingly and swiftly guided her out of her meditative state, then proceeded to lecture Hermione fiercely, making her promise to never do such a thing again.   
  
Hermione had stood by that promise, or so she’d thought, careful to only practice relaxation exercises in conjunction with yoga postures for short periods of time. But that day at Malfoy Manor, when she’d felt her own sanity slipping from her tortured grasp… was it possible? Out of instinct, she’d focused so intently on one thing, the most important thing to her – Sirius, repeating his name and image in her mind like a mantra, letting her consciousness slip into the safe and loving folds of memories, feelings, and images all centered around the grey-eyed wizard. If her torture had lasted as long as they’d said, she supposed it was more than possible…  
  
“Well, I imagine if you are stuck, since it’s been quite a while, we’ll start from a hundred, then,” Padma murmured warmly. Then, as if knowing the wild sense of excitement and anticipation Hermione was surely feeling, she added, “You’ll need to relax and be patient, Hermione. Focus on the sound of my voice, and the rhythm of your breathing, so steady, so slow, so deep… the air around you filling your every cell. You are one with everything, and everything is one with your mind… the images and thoughts are all narrowing, elongating, spinning into shimmering golden threads in the darkness with every breath… they are joining now, twisting and weaving themselves into a long golden rope attached to your solar plexus, a living, breathing, golden umbilical cord. See how it sways and curves with each breath, arcing out into the darkness… slowly, with each breath, its motion is decreasing… its curves growing smaller and smaller as if the rope is tightening, leading to a tiny point you can see in the darkness. The cord pulses with each breath, its light shining so softly…”  
  
Hermione was transfixed by the hypnotic timbre of Padma’s voice. All her thoughts seemed perfectly spun, immaculately braided into the long, glowing, golden cord that extended from her center. It seemed strong and fragile at the same time, and for a moment she hesitated, struggling with the impulse to grab onto the rope and haul herself quickly out of this darkness.   
  
“With each breath, Hermione, you understand more and more that you _are _the rope, just as you are the darkness. And with each slow… steady… deep breath, you can feel the rope tug, ever so gently, guiding you toward that tiny point in the darkness,” Padma continued softly. “It is closer than it looks, you realize, as the cord tugs you again, pulling your drifting form with each breath… one hundred… the tiny spot of light is ever so slightly bigger now… ninety-nine… you feel a slow steady pull now with each inhale… ninety-eight… a gentle pause as you exhale… ninety-seven… inhale, you are pulled closer… ninety-six… exhale, you float…”  
  
This continued, the light at the end of the long golden rope becoming brighter, bigger, growing closer, as Hermione was gently pulled towards it. At ‘fifty’ it was clearly an opening, a round golden porthole. At ‘forty’ she stepped into a perfectly round, vacant, but warm golden room to find the cord tied to the bottom rung of a glowing white ladder. With the rhythmic counts of ‘thirty-nine’ to ‘thirty,’ her fingers slowly untied the knot and she watched as the rope uncoiled and retracted into her chest, its golden light filling her with a buoyancy and self-awareness that made her want to laugh. Her limbs felt feather-light now, especially compared to the previously dull, dark, leaden feeling that was now well behind her as she started up the first of twenty ladder rungs, one step for each deep, steady, cleansing breath. Then, suddenly, she stepped out into the blue skies and warm green grass of Hogwarts’ grounds. It was breathtakingly beautiful, but there was some place she was supposed to be…  
  
“You turn around, and in another breath, there is a clean, soft, luxurious bed, floating just above the ground, beckoning. It will take you where you need to go. When you get in, the sheets feel cool and fresh against your skin. You breathe in, and out again, wiggling your fingers and toes against the soft fabric that surrounds you…”  
  
With a thrill, Hermione felt her fingers and toes move against something so tangible, more real than anything she’d felt on this journey. Padma’s gentle voice tugged at her attention, however, guiding her to continue breathing as the bed slowly rose on the count of ten, drifting through the entrance of the school in steady pulses synched with her breathing, until finally, on the count of ‘two’ she recognized her surroundings as the hospital wing, and on the count of ‘one’ the bed came to rest on the floor with a long and easy exhale.   
  
“…With another inhale, you realize your limbs feel light, your body filled with glowing, golden energy, so easily moved and connected perfectly to your mind. As you exhale, the sounds of your breath and your heartbeat mingle, you are alive, alive and awake and perfectly aware…”  
  
_Starting at her toes, Hermione mentally assessed the  _feel_  of her own body, the leaden weight completely gone. Her nose itched and twitched involuntarily, and her mouth suddenly felt so dry, that without thinking she swallowed and felt with delightful awareness her tongue pressing against the roof of her mouth and teeth. Slowly she wiggled her toes and flexed her feet, and then her fingers, which were still held by two soft hands.   
  
“You can open your eyes now, Hermione,” Padma whispered.  
  
The first thing that came into focus was the ceiling – that familiar stone ceiling she knew so well from the other times she’d awakened in a bed in the hospital wing of Hogwarts. Instinctively, her gaze turned to the source of the voice that had guided her out of that long darkness. Emerald green eyes gazed affectionately at her from the dark, exotic face of her Ravenclaw friend.   
  
“There you are,” Padma smiled.   
  
Hermione tried to speak, to say ‘hello’ or ‘thank you’, but a weak croak was all her parched throat could manage. Then, a movement caught her eye over Padma’s shoulder, and her heart skipped a beat.   
  
 _Sirius._  
  
The glossy black unkempt hair that had grown once more past his shoulders and the carelessly full beard that shadowed his face somehow did nothing to detract from his appearance. It was his eyes, anyway – storm cloud grey and filled with so much unspeakable tenderness that it took her breath away.  _Oh, how she’d missed him…_  Her throat suddenly felt knotted and tight, and her eyes stung with long-needed tears.  
  
She tried to sit up too quickly and felt a nauseating wave sweep over her.  
  
“Easy,” Padma murmured as she and Parvati helped her, conjuring pillows to prop her up.   
  
“Dizzy,” Hermione whispered, closing her eyes briefly.  
  
“Here - ” Parvati conjured a glass of cool water and held it to her lips. “Small sips. You’ve been magically nourished and maintained this whole time, but since you haven’t actually eaten or moved, I bet you’ll be going through a bit of unpleasantness for a day or so as you adjust.”   
  
The water felt amazingly cool and refreshing, and Hermione couldn’t help but smile gratefully. Her brief dizzy spell passed and her throat was starting to feel better already. As much as she wanted to just throw herself into Sirius’ arms, she realized she owed more than she could repay to the Patil twins.   
  
“Thank you,” she finally whispered to Padma, although words would never express her relief and gratitude.   
  
Padma gave an understanding smile. “You broke your promise to me,  _dhakkan_ ,” she teased softly. “But I think I can forgive you this time.”   
  
Padma and Parvati stood then, and Padma turned to Sirius, who was still frozen in place, a look of wonder on his face. “There you go,” she said warmly and motioned to Hermione.   
  
He hesitated only a fraction longer, his eyes still holding a hint of disbelief and uncertainty.  _Merlin, he’s beautiful,_  Hermione thought hungrily, and couldn’t help the smile that crept over her face. As if that were all the encouragement he needed, Sirius blinked suddenly, and with a gasp he was at her side, hands tenderly tracing her face, eyes searching hers for some unnamable thing.   
  
“ _Kitten?_ ” he murmured, and then she understood – of course it would seem unbelievable for her to suddenly awaken, completely herself and not addled or broken. She smiled wider at him, nodding through the happy tears that were now threatening her eyes.  
  
“Yes, Sirius,” whispered, and gave a watery laugh as he proceeded to rain kisses over her face. Her laughter turned to a sigh when his lips finally met hers, and she reached up then, curling a hand around his neck to draw him closer.   
  
Far too soon they were interrupted by a loud, shocked gasp from the doorway and the rushed steps of Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall. Everything happened very quickly after that, with a barrage of questions and explanations given by both Hermione and Padma, followed by poking and prodding to see that all of Hermione’s limbs and senses worked properly, and then, because she insisted she needed to go to the loo, they finally allowed her to get up from the bed and walk, albeit shakily, with Sirius’ assistance.   
  
Her hopes for a moment alone with Sirius were dashed, as the moment she stepped out of the little bathroom at the end of the infirmary, the hospital wing was filled with several voices shouting her name. Sirius wrapped a protective arm around her waist as Harry, Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George ran toward them.   
  
“Let her breathe,” he growled in a warning tone as he guided Hermione back to the semi-enclosed room where she’d spent the last three weeks. When they entered the area, a small feeling of dread came over her.   
  
She touched Sirius’ arm and paused. When he turned to her questioningly, she gave him a sheepish smile. “I really don’t want to get into that bed again,” she admitted.   
  
Smiling back in understanding, he let go of her waist and motioned to one of the chairs. She was secretly grateful he let her take those few steps unassisted. She felt very weak, but otherwise she was certain she was alright. Madam Pomfrey explained that the weakness was most likely due to not having had any proper food and being unconscious for weeks. She had run a regular series of diagnostics on Hermione every week, verifying that she was physically fine. However, both Pomfrey and McGonagall were in cautious agreement that the St. Mungo’s official who was coming the next day should proceed with a full assessment of Hermione’s health. Which, unfortunately, meant spending at least one more night in the infirmary, and she wanted to put off bed or sleep for as long as possible.  
  
“Only two at a time!” Madam Pomfrey was insisting as she stood at the doorway, holding out her hands against the small but rapidly growing group of friends that were rushing over to Hogwarts upon word that Hermione had awoken.   
  
After the last visitor had been shoo’ed out of the hospital wing at half past eleven, Hermione glanced up to see Padma, Parvati, and Lavender hovering awkwardly nearby. Finally, Lavender came and bent over her first, giving her a tight hug and mumbling, “Glad you’re back, Hermione. We were really worried.”   
  
“Yeah,” Parvati agreed, and gave Hermione a hug.   
  
When Padma came over to say her ‘goodnight’ however, Sirius stood and wrapped his arms around her in a grateful embrace, murmuring his heartfelt thanks to the surprised witch. She then laughingly leaned over and hugged Hermione and said, “I’ll probably see you tomorrow. Pomfrey is sure they’re going to want to talk to me as well.”  
  


~oOo~

  
  
One week. One  _entire_  week, they had kept her at St. Mungo’s for observation. While the practical side of her agreed that, given the circumstances it was completely understandable and probably a good thing, Hermione had truly reached end of her patience by day seven. They’d actually wanted to keep her longer, but neither she nor Sirius would have it. It was one time when she was actually grateful for his rather intimidating temper, as her release forms were prepared and signed in record time, declaring her to be in perfect health and clearing her for any and all normal physical activity.   
  
As Hermione signed her name to the last form, the pretty, young receptionist behind the counter whispered to her conspiratorially, “Your fiance is  _very_  protective of you – he threatened to have the head Healer’s job if they didn’t release you today. Said they’d done enough poking and prodding and if they didn’t let you go home, he’d buy the whole hospital just so he could fire him.”   
  
‘ _Fiance?_ ’ Hermione thought as her eyebrows shot up and she felt her cheeks warm.   
  
Just then, Sirius rounded the corner with her overnight bag draped over his arm. “Ready, love?” he grinned happily, as he held out his hand to her.   
  
Oh heavens, was she ever. Much like the first twenty-four hours at Hogwarts after she’d awoken, every waking ‘visitors hour’ at St. Mungo’s had been filled with friends and Order members come to visit, leaving virtually no time to spend alone with Sirius. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he was always present during the times that everyone else came and went, she’d have felt concerned that they’d hardly gotten to speak to each other at all.   
  
When they got to the lifts, they were both disappointed to find that the car was filled, leaving just enough room to let them both in, but again - no privacy.   
  
Sirius gave Hermione’s hand a squeeze and said quietly, “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but I have a feeling you’d want to know ahead of time – Molly’s planned a surprise party for you.”  
  
“Oh.” Hermione couldn’t keep the disappointment and frustration out of her voice. “Well that’s… nice of her. Thank you for letting me know,” she smiled sheepishly at Sirius.  
  
Despite their cramped audience, Sirius brushed his lips against her temple and murmured, “Just an hour or two, love.”  
  
Since she’d awoken, these frequent little gestures of affection had felt like such guilty pleasures - kisses with so much tenderness and love, yet so little history behind them. Hermione felt as though she  _shouldn’t_  be so comfortable with Sirius, shouldn’t thrill so much to his touch, shouldn’t really  _trust_  him, in fact. And yet, when she looked into his eyes she saw everything there, honest and true – a fierce devotion and love that made her chest feel tight.   
  
She’d had a week with a lot of solitude in which to think about her feelings for Sirius, and his for her. They’d gone from zero to one hundred in a matter of hours – well, less than zero when one accounted for his previously poor treatment of her. Was she weak for still loving him, still wanting him and letting him have her so quickly? If it were a friend of hers who had suffered so much confusion and unrequited love for so long, Hermione was certain her advice would be for the witch to tell Sirius to go bugger himself. But then, she was also certain that if that were the case, she wouldn’t be able to see the Sirius who had shown himself to her the night before she’d been captured.   
  
It wasn’t just the truth about his relationship with James and Lily, and his broken promise to them. Although, that in itself would have been proof enough of his loyalty. It made Hermione tremble inside when she thought of just how much devotion and love a man must be capable of, to vow never to be intimate with another because he thought he’d hurt James and Lily. Granted, much of his time since then was spent imprisoned by Azkaban or the Order, but she’d been his first in seventeen years, and only because James and Lily themselves had told him to let go, to take this chance. Surely his devotion to them deserved just as much respect as her own virginity had, if not more so?  
  
No, though, it wasn’t just that. It was something in his eyes that suddenly lit up the night they’d made love, and she knew the same was reflected in hers. The memory of that night would always make her smile and chuckle, regardless of what happened later down the road. It was decidedly not a perfect start, and yet it was perfect – awkward and humble and honest – she, the virgin with too much book smarts and very little experience, and he, sheepish and actually nervous –  _nervous!_  It had, after all, been almost two decades since he’d been with a witch.   
  
At first, she was shocked his initial admission just that he ‘thought’ he was in love with her. And then again later - he hadn’t even completely taken her yet, but had quite effortlessly addled her brain and body with his tongue and fingers - he said it again. Only that time there was no question or ‘I think’ to it, rather it was just an awe-filled declaration as he held her: ‘I love you, you know.’ That’s when she’d first seen it – he could just as easily spoken the words ‘the sky is blue,’ but the look in his eyes spoke more love than she’d ever seen in her life. Suddenly her months of angst and unrequited rubbish seemed incredibly juvenile. She realized then that, in a sense, she  _had_  ‘fancied herself’ to be in love with Sirius Black, because this – this was so very, very much more than anything she’d even dreamt of.   
  
Of course it  _was_  all rather backwards and sudden, but did she really care? Hermione supposed that focusing on her studies for the next few months in preparation for her final exams at Hogwarts would naturally slow things down a bit between her and Sirius. It was already abundantly clear that life would force them to take a more sensible pace in the rest of their relationship. Then again, there was such a thing as  _too_  sensible, she thought grumpily as they stepped out of the lift and headed to the long hallway of fireplaces attached to the floo network.   
  
Placing a hand on Sirius’ arm to pause him, she asked, “Do we have to go immediately to the Burrow? I was hoping to get cleaned up a bit first…”  
  
“Of course not, love. I can floo Molly as soon as we get back to Grimmauld Place. I’m sure everyone will understand,” he said with an indulgent smile.


	8. Welcoming Back

  
  
Well, it wasn’t a lie by any means. It had been over a month since she’d had the luxury of washing up in the privacy and comfort of  _her_  bathroom, the adequately-sized tile room with the surprisingly modern glassed-in shower stall. She and Harry had worked with Sirius to update a lot of the old house’s fixtures when Harry had been stuck at Grimmauld Place those last months.   
  
Hermione let out a blissful sigh as the warm water pulsed over her scalp, neck and down her back. She cleaned up quickly and, grinning to herself, called out through the doors she’d intentionally left slightly ajar, “Sirius?”  
  
She heard his heavy footfalls as he jogged up the stairs and entered her bedroom. “Hermione? Is everything alright?” His voice sounded slightly worried.  
  
Hermione licked her lips nervously before calling back, “I’m fine, I was just wondering if you could help me with something real quick.”  
  
There was a silent pause before Sirius answered, his voice closer now, as if he stood just outside of the bathroom door that was hanging slightly open. “What can I do for you, love?” he asked innocently, though there was a tension in his words.  
  
“Sirius…”  
  
“Yes…”   
  
Hermione looked over her shoulder and smiled to see the bathroom door swing a little further open. “Can you… help me?” she asked vaguely, still shy with words even if her intent was anything but.  
  
“Kitten…” Sirius growled softly. “I’m not sure if… What would you like me to help with?”   
  
She bit her lip in frustration and shifted, already feeling that warm, swollen hunger growing between her legs at the heated way he said ‘kitten’.   
  
“Well,” she began uncertainly, blushing as she focused her gaze on the tile wall. “You had mentioned something before… about, well… about showers, I mean – after…”   
  
She was, of course, referring to their first night together. After bringing himself off, his release splattering messily over her thighs, he’d teasingly mentioned that that was what ‘shower sex’ was for.   
  
“And-?” he asked softly. His voice sounded closer now, and Hermione glanced over her shoulder again to see him leaning against the doorframe now, eyeing her hungrily.   
  
 _Oh Circe,_  Hermione thought. How on earth did she end up here? It was positively surreal to believe that this gorgeous, sexy wizard wanted her,  _loved_  her.  
  
“I – I was… I was hoping you could show me…” her words faded as he pushed himself off the doorframe and strode into the bathroom.   
  
He stopped just in front of the glass door. “Turn around, Hermione,” he commanded quietly. When she did as told, her cheeks flushed as she hesitantly met his darkened gaze. Molten steel caressed her body, lingering over her breasts before traveling down the rest of her and back up again.   
  
“Right now? Are you certain, love?” he asked silkily, as if he already knew the answer.   
  
He was so close, if it weren’t for the damnable glass separating them, Hermione knew she would brush against him just by breathing. “Sirius,” she pleaded softly. “It’s been so long…  _please_ …”  
  
With a telltale smirk, he pulled his wand out and silently vanished his clothing, his already hard cock bouncing slightly as he let himself into the shower stall. “How can I deny you when you ask so nicely?” he murmured against her lips before sliding his tongue across hers in a lazy, sensual dance.   
  
Once more she found herself trembling at just his proximity. He was only kissing her, wasn’t even really touching her yet, but when he did, finally, his warm rough hands softly tracing the edges of her breasts, her eyes fluttered shut and a moan escaped her. She really didn’t think she could stand the slow teasing and experimental tasting this time. She was just about to open her mouth to say so, when Sirius dipped his head, taking one peaked nipple into his mouth.   
  
“Gods yes,” Hermione hissed, her fingers tangling in his half-wet, ebony hair.   
  
“Hermione… love…” Sirius said between laps as he teased his tongue back up across her skin, then down again, curling around her other nipple, biting softly here and there as he followed the dizzying trails of water running down from where the shower was hitting her. His hands were traveling lower now, fingers dancing down her spine to her backside, which he lovingly cupped with a gentle squeeze before slipping even lower, teasing at the juncture of her thighs. “I don’t think… I can…”  
  
“Oh  _please_  don’t tease me, Sirius – not now,” she said impatiently, gasping and arching against him as his fingers slipped along her folds before he slid his hands around the front of her thighs and dropped to his knees.   
  
“Spread your legs for me then, princess,” he rumbled, looking up at her with a sinful grin.  
  
Hermione’s momentary concern for Sirius’ comfort at such an odd angle was lost at the first touch of his tongue.   
  
 _Oh… Circe,_  she thought helplessly as she tangled her hands in his hair again.  _How did she go for so long without this?_  she wondered.  
  
A disappointed whimper escaped her when he pulled back momentarily, earning her another smug grin. “Put your feet up here, love,” he directed, patting the little ledge that ran along the tiled part of the stall. “I’ll catch you if you fall,” he teased at her hesitant look.  
  
The new angle opened her up to him in ways that made Hermione’s head spin as he took advantage of her exposed sex.   
  
“Merlin, I’ve missed you, missed your taste… so good, love,” he murmured against her before sliding his tongue along her slickness again, first tracing around her entrance, then trailing upwards to circle that little pink nub of flesh teasingly, then rewarding it one long, firm swipe, causing her knees to fairly buckle.   
  
“Oh, Sirius…yes… missed you so…” Hermione panted, gasping louding when he finally wrapped his lips around her clit, suckling and nipping gently at the bundle of nerves. She gripped his head frantically. “Don’t – don’t stop… please,” she keened, chanting his name feverishly as she felt her climax barreling down on her. When he pushed two fingers into her entrance, her world shattered, and her cries bounced around the walls of the high-ceilinged bathroom.   
  
He didn’t stop this time, however, and she jerked against him as he continued laving her sensitive flesh. He softened his movements there, kissing her wetness gently as he slowly began pumping his fingers in and out of her.   
  
“Oh,” Hermione breathed desperately and reached her hands up behind her to grasp onto the top frame of the shower stall as she felt another wave quickly building in her. “Oh gods, Sirius… I – I’m…”   
  
Suddenly he was gone from her, his fingers and mouth removed only momentarily as he stood between her legs, his hardness positioned just outside of her entrance. “Wrap your legs around me love,” he murmured as he lightly bit her jaw. He grabbed her waist and quickly turned them around so her back was braced against the tile wall, but he paused, waiting there, just nestled against her.  
  
“ _Please,_  Sirius!” she begged and wriggled against him, but he held her firmly in place.   
  
“Please what, kitten?” he whispered, pushing against her, but not yet entering. “Please fuck you?”  
  
Hermione whimpered and nodded her head frantically. He smiled wickedly and slipped a hand around and between them, his thumb finding her slit and massaging over her clit – not enough to satisfy, but enough to keep her teetering on her desperate edge. “Say it,” he demanded in a low growl.  
  
“Fuck me – p-please. Please fuck me, Sirius,” Hermione babbled, her cheeks flushing hotly.  
  
“There’s my girl,” he murmured proudly as he pushed into her slowly – too slowly, really, obviously still concerned for her well being, as it was really only her second time having sex.   
  
Hermione clutched at his shoulders, her fingers digging in almost painfully. “Harder,” she whispered.  
  
Surprised, Sirius pulled back to look at her face briefly. Then, with a hard exhale, he drove into her, claiming her mouth with his before pulling out slightly and roughly plunging his length into her again, leaving them both breathless and frantic.   
  
Hermione rocked against his motions. She was  _so_  close… the angle was also causing a delicious friction against her clit, and it was almost a sensory overload for her. When Sirius reached around and cupped her arse, however, the angle changed and his hard cock was suddenly driving right over that spot she’d read so much about. Clever wizard had found it their very first time together, and he obviously had no intention of neglecting it this time either…   
  
With a hoarse cry of his name, Hermione arched against him, her body tightening and convulsing around him as he continued to plunge into her a handful of times more.   
  
“Fuck, Hermione… wicked… little witch….” He grunted before finally shouting her name as he found his release, his body jerking and his hands clenching her arse as he spilled himself into her.  
  
When Hermione finally caught her breath she unhooked her ankles and let her legs slide slowly down Sirius’ body as he slipped out of her. Looking up into his face, she smiled at the tender look of astonishment there, before leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss the corner of his mouth.   
  
Sirius blinked at this, as if waking from a reverie, and returned her kiss threefold while bringing his hand up to cup her chin. Then, stepping back, he guided them both to stand more fully under the warm spray of water. He quickly rinsed himself down, and turned to Hermione with a lazy grin, reaching behind her for her shower gel and scrubby.   
  
Dropping to his knees, he started slowly at her feet, massaging the jasmine-scented gel into her toes, lovingly caressing the arches of her insteps. His movements were so reverent as he lathered her ankles and calves, planting worshipful kisses on her thighs, that Hermione was nearly moved to tears. His fingers pressed into her muscles through the scratchy material of her scrubber, working along the backs of her legs as he sat back on his heels and gazed up at her adoringly.   
  
“I wanted it to be more… romantic,” he said wistfully with an apologetic smile. “After the party at the Burrow, I’d planned on finally having you alone, finally getting to hold you, to talk to you, to slowly make love to you after being kept apart these weeks…”  
  
Hermione quirked an eyebrow and smiled down at him. “So I guess I ruined that, huh?”  
  
He kissed her sweetly at the crest of her pubis. “You’ve ruined nothing, my love,” he answered. “You’re so amazing. I just – I want to make it all up to you, to show you how much you really mean to me.”  
  
“Oh, Sirius,” she sighed, running her fingers through his damp hair.   
  
A sudden flicker of irritation crossed his face, followed a second later by the unexpected sound of Tonks’ voice calling from the bottom of the stairs, and Hermione understood his annoyance was that he’d felt the wards in the house alert him to his cousin’s sudden presence.   
  
“Sirius? Hermione? Is anybody home?”  
  
Sirius sighed and rolled his eyes, getting to his feet. He quickly kissed Hermione before leaving her bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. She grinned to herself and finished washing up, taking little time to find something comfortable but attractive to wear to the Burrow.   
  
Several minutes later, she descended the stairs and entered the parlour to find Sirius and Tonks chatting casually by the fireplace. Sirius had changed into a pair of black denim jeans and a dark grey silk shirt, and was lounging in a large armchair with his booted ankles crossed. Hermione licked her lips hungrily at the sight of him and wondered vaguely if there was any way they could get out of going to the Burrow.   
  
“There’s our girl!” Tonks quipped merrily and stood with some effort to hug Hermione.   
  
Hermione returned her embrace and laughed at how far she had to lean over Tonks’ expanding belly to do so. “Look at you!” she said. “You look radiant!”   
  
“See, Sirius?  _That_  is how you greet a pregnant witch. Not, ‘Good Godric, are you growing a litter in there?’” Tonks sniffed. “You’ll do well to remember that now before it’s your turn.”  
  
“Errr, well… Shall we?” Sirius said, changing the subject. “Don’t want to keep Molly and the others waiting…”  
  
“Oh, Sirius. You  _told_  her?” Tonks asked, dismayed.   
  
“No, Tonks – I really do prefer the advanced warning,” Hermione chuckled.   
  
“After you, cousin,” Sirius waved to the fireplace with a smug expression.   
  
Once Tonks had completely disappeared in a blur of green flames and bright pink hair, Sirius grabbed Hermione’s waist and pulled her to him. He brushed a stray curl from her face and let his fingers tenderly trace her cheek. “Hermione,” he said softly. “I love you.”   
  
When she opened her mouth to reply, he pressed his fingers to her lips. “I haven’t told them anything yet. I didn’t think that would be fair to you, although-” he paused with a sheepish smile, “I daresay most of them have figured it out at least partway by now. I don’t care what any of them think,” he added quickly. “But I know this has all been rather hectic for you – and I wanted to give you time to decide what you wanted.”  
  
“Thank you,” Hermione said with a small, perplexed frown. “I don’t care what anyone thinks either, Sirius. I got over that a long time ago. In fact I don’t really think we owe anyone an announcement or explanation, except maybe Harry, and he’s clearly figured it out by now… But does this mean you won’t hold my hand at the party?” she asked jokingly, although she did half mean it.  
  
He grinned at her, and instead of answering, he tilted her chin up and kissed her deeply and thoroughly before leading her to the fireplace.  
  


~~

  
  
Hermione needn’t have worried about feigning shock at the surprise party waiting for her. The sheer number of guests who’d come together for her welcoming back celebration was surprise enough in itself. Her full recovery from being subjected to a prolonged Crutiatus curse had attracted not only her classmates, teachers, and friends to celebrate, but the media as well, who were being kept outside the periphery of a solid ward encircling the Weasleys’ property.   
  
In answer to her question, Sirius stayed close to her through much of the afternoon, his hand pressed intimately against the small of her back, never smothering but making quite clear through his presence that they were ‘together’. There were a few raised eyebrows from those who weren’t part of their closer fold, but the members of their inner circle merely exchanged smug grins over the matter, leaving Hermione to wonder just how long they’d all suspected Sirius had feelings for her.   
  
“Granger!” Two voices called in perfect unison, bringing an involuntary smile to Hermione’s face. She turned just in time to be lovingly assaulted by Fred and George, each wrapping her in warm hugs and affectionate kisses on the cheek.  
  
“Sorry we’re late, love,” George began.  
  
“Poor Georgie here was having some difficulties unwrapping himself from the arms of the shop girl next door,” Fred said with a smirk.  
  
“Jealous,” George mumbled uncharacteristically as his face turned a deep scarlet hue.   
  
“Mind if we borrow your boy for a bit?” Fred asked suddenly, narrowing his eyes on Sirius. “We have a few matters to discuss.”  
  
Hermione gave a nonchalant shrug and shook her head with a chuckle, watching as the Weasley twins dragged Sirius off to a secluded corner.   
  
“So… Sirius Black, eh?” Lavender’s voice came from behind her. Hermione turned again to find her former Hogwarts dorm mate standing with her arms folded and wearing an admiring smirk. “You  _owe_  me Hermione, so tell me the truth – is that who it was all about?”  
  
When Hermione merely blushed and stammered in response, Lavender clucked her tongue softly. “Well, well, well. You just don’t do anything half-way, do you?” She grinned and added in a quiet and sincere tone. “You do know he loves you, right? He never left your side for more than an hour that whole time…” Her pale violet eyes darted suddenly over Hermione’s shoulder, and her grin widened. “Hullo, Mister Black – pleasure to see you again.”  
  
Sirius’ expression was decidedly irritated and he was muttering grumpily under his breath as he strode over to them. “Er – hello there, Miss…” Sirius floundered and then smiled apologetically. “I never did ask your name. I’m terribly sorry.”  
  
“Lavender Brown.” Lavender held out a hand and smiled charmingly. “You had other things on your mind, so I’ll forgive you this time,” she added.  
  
“ _Lavender_  Brown?” Sirius repeated and slowly raised an eyebrow at Hermione. “I’ve heard that name, you know. It is a pleasure to properly meet you, and again to thank you for your hand in bringing Hermione back to us.”   
  
“Oh!” Lavender exclaimed suddenly, looking over Sirius’ shoulder. “There’s Charlie. It was a pleasure to meet you too, Mister Black,” she said in a rush before dashing off to chat with Ron Weasley’s much older brother.   
  
Before Hermione could remark on Lavender’s new wizard of interest, Sirius murmured in her ear, “So, is that the same Lavender who said you have a perfect set of breasts?”   
  
Blushing furiously, she hissed, “I never said that!”   
  
“No, but you never said she didn’t.” Sirius chuckled.   
  
“I only said I thought she was just being nice,” Hermione mumbled petulantly, although a naughty smile pulled at the corners of her mouth as she remembered how self-conscious she’d been the first time Sirius saw her undressed. She’d been worried that his silence was because there was something wrong with the figure Lavender had once impatiently complimented while making her over.  
  
“You came back over here in a bit of a state,” she said, changing the subject. “What did Fred and George have to say?”  
  
“Fucking wankers,” Sirius muttered sullenly. “You know they threatened me?  _Me?_  As if they could actually get away with – with…”  
  
“They  _threatened_  you?” Hermione laughed incredulously. “Whatever for?” she asked with poorly feigned innocence, her lips twitching mirthfully. She could easily guess just what they had to say to Sirius Black. After all, they were the only ones who really had any idea of just how hard she’d tried and failed to get over him. Beneath her amusement, she was deeply touched that they felt so protective of her.  
  
“You’re a cheeky little swot, you know that?” was his response. “Ought to tell their mother, I should,” he continued grumbling, “Course, she’d likely be no better… ‘hurt her again’ indeed,” he added under his breath.  
  
Hermione bit back her amusement, but couldn’t resist the urge to give Sirius an indulgent pat on his arm as they walked in the general direction of the refreshments table.   
  
An hour or so later, it was Harry who noticed what quick work they were making of touching base with all of the guests. After a typically awkward exchange with Luna and Neville, he pulled Hermione away with a concerned frown.  
  
“Hey, are you alright with all of this?” he asked quietly. “Mrs. Weasley got a bit carried away with the guest list, I’m afraid.”   
  
Hermione opened her mouth to say she was fine, but the look in her friend’s eyes reminded her of just how precious her chosen family was. Realizing he deserved her candid trust, she smiled sheepishly.   
  
“Honestly I feel a bit silly about it all. Everyone’s behaving as if I’ve miraculously returned from the dead, when I just – well, I just got myself good and stuck is all. I don’t quite know what to say to everyone… It’s rather embarrassing, really,” she admitted. “I just want it all to be normal again,” she added wistfully.  
  
“Oh. ‘Normal’,” Harry said wryly. “Remind me what that is again?”  
  
“You know what I mean,” Hermione said with a laugh, then grew serious. “McGonagall’s going to let me do independent study and test whenever I’m ready. But with the war being over, and no real classes to return to, I don’t know…” She shook her head.  
  
“And what about Sirius?”  
  
The point-blank question was startling despite its gentle delivery. She opened and closed her mouth several times, unsure how to respond. When she didn’t, Harry continued. “You know, Hermione, every year since we were eleven, life has been this series of truly bizarre trials, struggles, and battles - sometimes literal ones. I’m not saying that it’s never going to be that difficult again, but I don’t know – maybe it’s time to let ourselves have something good for a while.”  
  
Hermione frowned at him. “How did you -?”  
  
“You’re my best friend,” he said with a smile. “I won’t pretend to know everything about you, but it’s a pretty good guess that you’re probably thinking about what you ‘should’ do, how you should take things slow with him, focus on your studies, maybe get your own place for a while… But life is precious, Hermione, precious and short.” His smile faded and he said, “We really did believe we’d lost you. Well most of us did. Did you know that Voldemort was planning an attack Hogwarts, with all of the students in it? That was how he was going to draw me out. He would have slaughtered them. If we had been just two steps behind where we were, so many people would have been lost. It was just by luck, awful and good, that we wound up at the Malfoys’ and brought the battle there instead…”  
  
They both stood in silence for several moments, looking out over the slowly diminishing crowd.   
  
“I don’t know,” Harry finally said. “I get the whole ‘what’s next?’ feeling. I guess all I’m saying is that - ” He took a deep breath and sighed. “We never really know what’s going to happen in the next five seconds. There aren’t any more missions, so maybe it’s time to take what happiness we’re given, yeah?”  
  
Hermione was dumbstruck.   
  
“Everything alright, love?” Sirius asked quietly, sneaking up behind her and sliding his hand over her back.   
  
Harry gave his godfather a small smile and reached into his robes, pulling out a shimmering bundle of fabric. “Here,” he said, handing the Invisibility Cloak to Sirius. “I’ll make sure no one sees your feet,” he added, his smile widening into a grin.   
  
Just as they turned to go, Harry stopped them. “Sorry, I almost forgot. Viktor wanted me to give this to you,” he said, and handed a folded envelope to Hermione. She could tell by the look on his face that it was probably a ‘goodbye’ letter. “He got called back to Bulgaria a couple of weeks ago – family business,” Harry explained.   
  
She cautioned a glance to Sirius, but only found a small, albeit tolerant smile there. “Ready, love?” he asked softly, and at her nod, he threw the cloak over the both of them, guiding them into the living room of Weasley’s house, where they floo’ed back to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.  
  
As soon as they stepped out of the fireplace and into the familiar old sitting room, Sirius threw the cloak off of them and folded it neatly, leaving it in the nearest chair. “Come on,” he said, grabbing Hermione’s hand and pulling her towards the front door.  
  
“Sirius, where are we - ” she began.  
  
“Trust me?” he asked with a twinkle in his eyes.  
  
“O-of course…yes,” she answered, because she realized she really truly  _did_.   
  
“I have a little surprise of my own for you,” he said with a grin and opened the door. When they were both just outside of the Fidelius charm that was still in place, he wrapped his arms around her waist, closed his eyes, and turned, Disapparating them with a loud  _pop_  to a location unknown to Hermione.   
  


~oOo~

  
  
When the squeeze of Apparition eased from her body, Hermione knew immediately by sound and smell that they were by the ocean. A cool breeze blew over them, bringing with it the scent of salt water, and when she opened her eyes, she let out a soft gasp. They weren’t so much ‘by’ the ocean as they were above it, on the edge of a tall rocky cliff jutting out over a long strip of sandy white beach below.   
  
Sirius’ hands never left her waist as he gently turned her around to face the horizon, where the sun was melting slowly into the water, painting ocean and sky a breathtaking wash of pinks and oranges and purples. He pulled her close to him, spooning her against his chest as he nuzzled the soft spot behind her ear.   
  
“Do you like it, my love?” he asked in a quiet rumble, sending a shiver through her.  
  
“Oh Sirius, it’s beautiful,” Hermione answered breathily, even as her eyes fluttered shut as his lips continued exploring her neck. “Where are we?” she asked weakly.  
  
“France,” he murmured casually. “Near the Spanish border.”  
  
She shivered again as he found her weak spot where her shoulder met her neck.   
  
“Are you cold, love?” Not waiting for an answer, he turned her around in his arms and looked searchingly into her eyes. “Is this alright?” he asked. “I thought you might like to escape for a bit.”  
  
Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. ‘ _Alright’?_  she wondered in amusement. “It’s perfect,” she said with a quizzical smile. “I just – well, what are we doing here?”   
  
“Oh,” Sirius chuckled. “Of course,” he said and took her hand, leading her away from the cliff and sunset to a vast empty plot of land. As they neared the base of a slight incline, he paused and turned to her, squeezing her hand. “Repeat,” he said, “ _La noble et très ancienne maison des Black_.”   
  
 _‘The most noble and ancient house of Black?’_  Hermione nearly laughed.  
  
Seeing her quirked eyebrow, Sirius rolled his eyes sheepishly. “One of Father’s many estate properties. We’ll change it as soon as possible.”  
  
As soon as she murmured the French phrase to herself, the air before her shimmered. In the blink of an eye, the vacant rolling hill was filled with a stately and well-manicured villa surrounded by beautiful gardens and a winding pathway that led straight to where they were standing and beyond. Hermione looked behind her to see that where the cliff had seemed impossibly isolated from the shoreline below, there was now a pathway that sloped off to the side, leading to a long set of stone stairs going all the way down to the beach.   
  
“Sirius, this is…” she shook her head in amazement.   
  
“Before we go in, I need to warn you, sweeting,” he said with a note of apprehension.   
  
“What is it?” she asked.  
  
“Well,” Sirius began, “All of the estate properties have been left untouched for so long, they needed quite a bit of work. And I know how you felt about house elves, and there was the whole business with Kreacher, and I suppose I could have done most of it myself, but it would have taken forever and the truth is, I wouldn’t have done half as decent a job, and – and this type of thing really is her  _specialty_ ,” he babbled.  
  
“ _Who’s_  specialty?” Hermione asked, although she was certain she knew the answer.   
  
“Harry’s friend Dobby recommended her, said she was one of the more ‘modern’ ones who might not take too much offense if you insisted on paying her or giving her days off,” he continued.  
  
“Who?” she repeated insistently.  
  
Sirius heaved a heavy sigh, and answered, “Pippa.”   
  
Before Hermione could reply, there was a loud crack and before them appeared a short, oddly dainty, bright eyed elf draped in what looked like a lacy pink miniature pillowcase.   
  
“Ah! Monsieur Black!” the slight creature exclaimed in a squeaky voice, clapping her hands together. She turned to Hermione and smiled. “And zis must be ze lovely Mademoiselle Granger you speak of. So lovely – she is much younger zan you, non? Ah! ‘twill be so nice to ‘ave a pretty young witch to dress up and pamper! Come, come!” she waved them towards the entrance to the mansion.   
  
Hermione paid a mystified glance to Sirius, who was looking even more sheepish. Before she could open her mouth, however, Pippa called back impatiently, “You will get chilled if you continue to stand out here in ze evening, dears. Ze cool night air – it comes swiftly once ze sun has set. Come along!”  
  
 _For such a little thing, she certainly moves fast,_  Hermione thought as she trotted along next to Sirius behind the house elf.   
  
“Mademoiselle’s belongings ‘ave been move to zee master suite as you asked, Monsieur Black,” Pippa chattered as she hurried them along, snapping her fingers at lamps and candelabras as she passed, filling the opulent house with a warm, friendly glow. “Zee library ‘as been stocked with everyzing from zee list you gave me, plus all of zee books from zee manor house in London ‘ave been duplicated and organized under zee same system,” she continued in a business-like manner.   
  
When they reached the top of the large marble staircase, Pippa stopped so suddenly that Hermione very nearly ran her over. Motioning to the dark cherry double-doors, she announced, “Zee master suite.” Then, she turned around and narrowed her eyes at Hermione shrewdly. “Both Dobby and Monsieur Black have told Pippa that you may be having – ehm… difficulty? - about zee way of zee ‘ouse elfs. Pippa has seen from your own collection of books you must be very bright witch. If zere is anysing you do not understand, Pippa will be happy to explain. But for now, you have had ze very exciting day, Monsieur tells me, and you will be wanting a rest before supper.”   
  
It sounded more like a command than an offering, and when she opened the doors to the lavish bedroom, both Hermione and Sirius entered obediently.  
  
Hermione’s speechlessness was rendered even more so when Sirius crouched down and smiled at the house elf. “Thank you so much for all of your help, Pippa,” he said warmly, taking her little hand and teasingly kissing the back of it. “You are truly a goddess among your kind.”  
  
“Oh stop zat,” she giggled hoarsely and pulled her hand away. “You are as bad as your uncle was, rest his soul.”  
  
At this, Hermione raised an eyebrow. When the doors finally shut behind Pippa, she asked, “Your uncle? I thought you said she was new.”  
  
“Er, well, yes and no,” Sirius answered, kicking off his shoes. “Dobby knew her from when he belonged to Narcissa and Lucius. She wasn’t part of the Black family estate though, technically. Uncle Alphard hired her independently - ”  
  
“You mean  _bought_  her,” Hermione interrupted tightly, not quite able to keep her old moral objections at bay. The incident with Kreacher had forced her to admit that elf magic was far too old, complex, and couched in centuries of mystery to fight an educated fight for what she considered to be equality on their behalf.   
  
After nearly losing Harry’s life as well as his own in the Ministry battle, Sirius had been angrier than she’d ever seen him when he discovered it was Kreacher who had intentionally betrayed them. Regardless of how much loneliness, blood-obsessed madness, and Sirius’ own unkindness had contributed to the house-elf’s betrayal, the fact was that this breach had been a serious one, posing unspeakable risk to the secrecy of the entire Order.   
  
Hermione had begged Sirius not to harm Kreacher, but to ‘just give him clothes’, to set him free. Unbeknownst to either of them, the Black family house elves were bound to “live only to serve the Noble House of Black.” Giving Kreacher the nondescript old scarf hanging in the front hallway had essentially been his death sentence.  
  
However, old habits died hard, and the notion that a witch or wizard could ‘own’ another cognizant, intelligent creature, magical or no, was something Hermione just could not seem to let go of.  
  
“ _Hired_  her,” Sirius emphasized. “I don’t honestly know what the contract entailed, but upon Uncle Alphard’s death, Pippa was honorably rendered an independent elf.   
  
“I won’t pretend his intentions were pure, Hermione – he always had a penchant for thumbing his nose at the rest of the family and doing unconventional things just to piss them off. I daresay this was just one more way of doing so. Having Pippa’s contract expire when he died meant she couldn’t be passed along to someone else like some overblown tea set. He also had all of his belongings liquidated and the gold separated between Reg and me, I think for much the same reason.” Sirius shrugged.   
  
“So… what’s her arrangement now?” Hermione asked cautiously.   
  
“Her arrangement is that she stays only as long as she’s happy. She manages the other estate properties and the house elves therein – I know, love,” he held up an apologetic hand when Hermione straightened and opened her mouth to protest. “But until we find a way around Elladora’s sick little binding spell, there’s nothing I can do but make their lives as comfortable and peaceful as possible. Plus it gives Pippa someone to boss around when we’re not here,” he added wryly.  
  
Hermione hummed a little in agreement. Then, realizing there was something much larger than the matter of a feisty house elf, she looked up at Sirius with a small frown. “You’ve had all of my belongings moved here?” she asked. “And the library duplicated?”  
  
He paused in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt cuffs and raised an eyebrow at her with a hint of a dangerous smile on his lips. “Is that a problem?” he asked in that low voice that always had a similar effect on her of hot tea unexpectedly spiked with firewhiskey.   
  
Hermione swallowed as he slowly crossed the room to her, the predatory gleam in his eye growing with each step. “Why?” she asked lamely, cringing inwardly. It was the only thing she could think of with him  _looking_  at her like that.  
  
Sirius’ lips curved into a seductive smirk. “Because,” he purred as he drew close to her. “I intend on keeping you here,” he murmured into her ear as he slipped behind her, his hand snaking around her waist and pressing her to him. “For as long as I can get away with.” 


	9. Kept

_Sirius’ lips curved into a seductive smirk. “Because,” he purred as he drew close to her. “I intend on keeping you here,” he murmured into her ear as he slipped behind her, his hand snaking around her waist and pressing her to him. “For as long as I can get away with.”_   
  


~~

  
  
Hermione shivered again at the way his words felt against her skin as his lips rasped across the flesh of her neck. She was certain there must be some reason she should be protesting this, although what ‘this’ even  _was_ , was quickly slipping from her logic’s grasp as Sirius’ hands smoothed over her stomach, waist, and hips while his mouth continued nuzzling at her shoulder.   
  
“But… Sirius…” she breathed weakly. Finally a tiny twinge of annoyance with herself gave her the little boost of strength she needed. “Sirius,” she repeated a little louder. “Please, I need to know -”  
  
She couldn’t help the little gasp of dismay as his hands and lips suddenly left her. He stepped around to face her, regarding her thoughtfully, before taking her hand and pulling her over to the ornate four-poster king sized bed. Silently, he gave her a gentle nudge to sit her on the edge, then dropped to his knees before her, positioning himself between her slightly parted legs.   
  
The look on Sirius’ face was so tender and loving, almost reverent, and suddenly Hermione’s eyes widened as she realized with more than a little panic what might be coming.  
  
Seeing her sudden change of expression, Sirius laughed. “I’m not going to propose to you, poppet! Well,” he amended quietly with a small tilt of his head, “I  _am_ , just not right now.”   
  
Hermione felt her face flush and her heart raced at the very idea. With an affectionate chuckle he took her hands in his and kissed the palms of each before continuing. “Do you remember, duck, our first time together, when you said you loved me?”  
  
“Of course,” Hermione murmured right away.  
  
“-and that it wasn’t your way of prompting me to say it back, but that you needed me to know just what was at stake for you?” he finished.  
  
“Oh…well yes,” she said, not exactly sure where he was going with this.  
  
“Well,” he continued slowly, “I’m asking you to try and understand what’s at stake for me, now.”  
  
He suddenly looked so vulnerable and -  _uncertain_ , that Hermione almost forgot to breathe.   
  
“Hermione, the only other witch I’ve ever loved was Lily, and that was… well, it was quite different from this. I – I’m twice your age, pet.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Dating, and being a – a steady boyfriend – well, I was pants at it even when I was the right age for it. And now – all I want is to love you, Hermione. I don’t want to pressure you or make you uncomfortable, but after everything - ”  
  
He broke off abruptly and swallowed, looking away. Hermione could see the muscle in his jaw working tensely. “I almost lost you, just when I’d found you,” he whispered thickly, and she remembered the morning when she’d left with Harry and Ron, how hesitant Sirius was to let her go, how she’d reassured him so confidently that it was a simple mission, and they’d be back quickly, safe as houses, despite her gut telling her otherwise.  
  
When she gave a gentle squeeze to the hand that was still holding hers, he looked up into her face again with an expression of renewed determination. “I just – there’s not enough time – not enough to squander on pretending to learn what we already know. I’ve already lost half my life, Hermione. I don’t want to waste any more of it by not being with you.”   
  
Hermione was speechless. Not so much at Sirius’ words, but at the sudden feeling of her life falling into place. She’d never told anyone just how close she came, how much she’d  _wanted_  to die when Bellatrix was torturing her, how, had she been capable of speech, she would most assuredly have begged for it. Frankly, it was a memory she’d been diligently trying to put behind her. But the truth was, Sirius really did almost lose her, and she had almost lost everything – every chance at happiness, at life, at love.   
  
When she didn’t respond, Sirius gave a little shrug. “So, to answer your question, I had your belongings and the library brought here because I knew you’d be throwing yourself back into your studies as soon as possible,” he said. “I just didn’t want you to have to go away to do so,” he added with a failed sheepishness, grinning boyishly.  
  
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “So you thought you’d just… steal me away and eliminate any excuse I could think of to leave?” she clarified, slowly sliding herself off the bed to land neatly in Sirius’ lap.   
  
He gave a hungry sigh and ran his hands over her thighs, wrapping her legs around him as she slid her hands over his chest and around his shoulders. “I’m sorry, was that presumptuous of me?” he muttered insincerely, his lips ghosting across hers as his hands trailed back up her legs, giving her bottom a gentle squeeze.   
  
Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt him smile against her lips as his fingers continued to travel up under her shirt, tracing feather light patterns over the sensitive skin at the base of her spine. “Because,” he whispered, still not kissing her fully but teasing her mouth with his. “I would hate to say… or do…. anything untoward to you, princess,” he finished, lightly nipping and tracing his tongue over her bottom lip between words.   
  
With an exasperated exhale, Hermione pressed against Sirius, kissing him fully and deeply, darting her tongue expertly between his lips to curl against his. She grinned against him at the resulting growl that rumbled from his chest.   
  
 _Merlin,_  she thought distractedly. She was certain she’d never tire of his kisses. She scratched softly at his scalp as her fingers tangled themselves in his soft black hair, artfully trimmed to just past his shoulders once more. Her other hand kneaded into his shoulder, working its way down his muscled bicep and back up again before curling against his chest.   
  
Finally breaking away for air, Hermione murmured, “Very presumptuous, and incredibly untoward. Of course, I’d expect nothing less,  _Monsieur Black_.”   
  
“Mmm… I’ll have to try even harder, then,” he growled softly and dove for her neck, sucking and gently biting along her tender flesh, smiling against her skin with every involuntary little gasp and mewl he elicited from her. As he dipped lower, Hermione tilted her head back, inviting him further, sighing when he slid his hands around to her front to begin unbuttoning her blouse.   
  
Grasping for some kind of witty response, she said, “I suppose next time you’ll just tie me up and throw me over your shoulder then?” The sardonic tone she was trying for came out hopelessly breathy and it sounded more like a request, even to her ears.  
  
Sirius paused halfway down the line of dainty little buttons, and narrowed his eyes at her with a smirk. “That  _can_  be arranged, my love.”   
  
Hermione bit her lip as she felt her cheeks redden. The very thought of Sirius tying her up, forcing her to relinquish all propriety and movement and control and  _worry_ , sent a sudden wave of intense, heavy heat to her most intimate parts.   
  
What would he think of her, though? With so little experience under her belt, she felt like she ‘should’ be more demure, more cautious. And yet, just his fingers brushing her skin as he slowly slipped the little faux pearls through the holes on her blouse made her want, _crave_  the wild lust he elicited in her. That he loved her made her head spin and heart ache with a sweetness. But with the simplest touch he also made her feel deliciously naughty, and she found herself wanting more and more of it.   
  
As if reading her mind perfectly, he exhaled a soft growl and sped up the process of freeing her from her top. “Is that so,  _Mademoiselle Granger?_ ” he purred against her neck as his hands pushed the material over her shoulders, but stopped halfway down her arms. He reached behind her, grasping the fabric of her shirt in one hand, effectively holding her in place as he paid a curious glance to her face.   
  
“I would never hold you against your will, Hermione,” he said solemnly. “You know that, right?”  
  
She wasn’t quite sure whether he was referring to their stay at the villa, or her arms that were gently being held behind her back, but she replied to both, “I know.”  
  
A mischievous smile flashed across his face then, and before she knew what had happened, he was on his feet and she was suddenly and easily hoisted over his shoulder like a simple bag of laundry. She let out a squeal of laughter as he playfully tossed her onto the bed, grinning wickedly down at her as she realized that her hands were still firmly bound.   
  
Like a giant cat (Hermione snickered at the irony), Sirius prowled his way over to her on his hands and knees. When he reached her legs, he straddled her and dipped his head down to trail his tongue in an artful path over her stomach, causing her laughter to die off into a sigh as she fell back onto her hands. Over her waist, back down, and dipping into her belly button, then up along her ribcage and further, where he grazed his teeth along the lace edge of her bra before nipping gently at the soft flesh.   
  
Hovering just over her, touching her only with his mouth, Sirius slowly teased his way up her body until they were face to face. His expression was predatory, while she was reduced to a panting quivering mess beneath him.   
  
Hermione watched as his eyes traced her features, a smug expression on his lips. She licked her own lips hungrily, wondering with growing frustration why he wasn’t  _doing_ anything. Finally, as best as she could manage with her arms mashed under her back, she arched up, then tried to lean up to kiss him, only to have him dodge her advance with a maddening chuckle.   
  
“Sirius…” she complained softly.   
  
“Yes, Hermione?” he answered with a mirthful tone, his eyes twinkling. When she only frowned in response, he said, “Tell me what you want, kitten. I think it’s time you learned to use that sexy little mouth of yours.”  
  
Just as she was about to open her mouth with a sharp retort, he beat her to it, adding, “Of course, you’ve already shown you know quite well how to use it in non-verbal ways, love.” His smirk was sinful, clearly referring to their first morning together. As if to demonstrate the effect that memory had on him, he lowered his body to hers briefly, treating her lips with a tantalizingly short but scorching kiss as he rocked his hips against hers, letting her feel the evidence of his arousal as his hardness rubbed between them.   
  
Just as quickly he was back up again, balanced on his hands and knees as she wriggled in frustration beneath him. She wondered vaguely at what point did he managed to transfigure her blouse into whatever it was that she couldn’t manage to untie, and finally gave up with a small huff.   
  
Sirius raised an amused eyebrow at her. “Well?” he asked.  
  
“Well what?” she answered petulantly.  
  
He gave teasing cluck of admonishment and shook his head. “Miss Granger, I shouldn’t have to point out that with you tied up like this, I could very well wait indefinitely for a proper response from you. Of course,” he lowered his lips to hers again, pausing just a breath away, ghosting just a centimetre from her skin with his mouth – not touching, but _suggesting_  a trail over her jaw, down her neck, over the slope of a breast… he stopped, his warm moist breath torturing her nipple as it tightened even more for him. “I won’t just be ‘waiting’, you see,” he finished in a whisper, lips barely brushing the lace-covered peak for a fraction of a second, but eliciting a sharp gasp from Hermione all the same.   
  
“Sirius,  _please_ ,” she keened, arching fruitlessly against him once more.  
  
“Hmmm?” he asked lazily.  
  
“ _Kiss_  me, Sirius. Gods, touch me… anything,” Hermione pleaded.   
  
Her words were rewarded with the heated press of his body, his mouth first tasting softly at the corner of her mouth, then sampling her upper lip until she urged him with her own lips, her teeth nipping at his bottom lip, soothing her bites with her tongue then slipping inside, sliding against his, delicate and slow at first, but quickly turning hungry and fierce.  
  
She pressed as much of herself against him as she could, moaning against his kisses. The hand that wasn’t balancing his weight over her began a loving path, first tenderly stroking her cheek, then her neck. She shivered as fingers softly traced across her bare shoulder, stopping at her bra strap and diverting downward, teasing the side of her breast before dancing back up again to her arm.   
  
Without leaving her lips, he silently urged her to lean up as his hand slid down her arm and under her back. When he reluctantly broke away, leaning up on his knees, Hermione realized she was free of her binding, but only briefly as both of Sirius’ hands now held her freed arms and guided them gently above her head. She felt her pulse quicken as cool silk magically wrapped its way around her wrists, holding them there while Sirius held her by the waist and slid her body up the mattress to the head of the bed where one of the four tall posts awaited.   
  
Once she was secured, Sirius lay alongside her on his side, propping his head up with his hand as he scrutinized her face almost casually. Hermione sighed an almost imperceptible moan, closing her eyes as he smoothed his free hand down her body and back up again. When she opened them again, he was smiling softly at her.   
  
“So tempting to just take advantage of you like this, kitten,” he said lazily.  
  
“Then why don’t you?” Hermione challenged in a whisper, arching again into his touch that just barely grazed her breast.   
  
His smile widened and he pulled his hand away. “Because,” he answered, “I intend on expanding that vocabulary of yours. Because I want to hear all the filthy, naughty words and ideas that make you blush come spilling out of that pretty little mouth.” He leaned in, his mouth whispering across hers as he positioned himself above her again. “You’re going to have to tell me what you want, Hermione,” he taunted.   
  
She panted wordlessly against him, warring with herself and the big shy stumbling block that was preventing any verbal response to him. As if sensing this, he slid a leg between hers, barely brushing his thigh against her warmth. “Shall I make you beg?” he murmured against her lips before biting softly and sliding down her body.   
  
“Yes…” Hermione finally managed.   
  
Sirius hummed. “Very well, then.”   
  
Hermione wondered feverishly how  _not touching_  could be so damned arousing, as again Sirius skimmed his lips and fingers over her flesh, just a breath from actual contact. When he reached her waist and legs – the part of her body that was still fully clothed, he was more liberal, gripping her hips and sliding his hands around to the backs of her thighs, his fingers tracing the thick inseam of her jeans down and back up to her apex. He was so close, but shut out by frustrating layers of fabric that he refused to pay more than a touch to, running his fingers over the material and then sliding away. She wanted to grind perversely against him for any kind of satisfaction.   
  
“Sirius,” Hermione pleaded.   
  
“Yes, poppet?” he asked innocently, his fingers still dancing over her legs, making their way back up her thighs and away again.  
  
“Please…” She paused and licked her lips, not meeting his eye. “Please take them off.”  
  
“Are you sure?” His voice was laced with amusement.   
  
She gritted her teeth and shot him a glare, pulling against her bindings unthinkingly. “Yes. Please remove my jeans,”  _you obnoxious arse_ , she added silently.   
  
“Anything for you, my love,” he answered with a smirk, paying a brief nuzzle against her mid drift before slipping the metal button through its hole, then pulling the zipper down and parting the corners of denim.   
  
He glanced up at her with a look of wicked amusement. “You match again. Is this something I can look forward to from now on?” he asked as he slid his hands beneath her, hooking his fingers into the waist of her jeans and giving a tug.   
  
Hermione lifted her hips and sighed as he pulled the fabric down. “I suppose you’ll have to wait and see,” she answered, her voice catching as he planted another kiss on the sensitive patch of skin just above the skimpy loop of black lace curving over her hip.   
  
“Black and yellow this time,” Sirius observed, as he worked her jeans down her legs, tossing them carelessly over his shoulder once they were off. “Tell me you don’t have all four houses in your collection?”   
  
“I suppose you’ll have to wait and see,” Hermione repeated, then gasped as he admonished her with a soft bite to her inner thigh.  
  
“Cheeky little witch,” he muttered, his rough chin teasing her soft flesh before he pulled away and sat back on his heels between her legs.   
  
Hermione watched as Sirius eyed her hungrily, drifting his fingers just over the surface of her legs, again not touching. She took a little satisfaction in the fact that he was beginning to look impatient himself, and she wondered who would really be teasing whom in the end. The thought sent another wave of heat through her as she shuddered under his gaze.  
  
After an achingly long moment Hermione took a shaky breath. “Touch me, Sirius,” she said softly. “Please,” she added, undulating her body toward him.   
  
His eyes fluttered slightly as his fingers slowly caressed her legs, curving around her calf muscles and sliding up behind her knees and along her thighs. He ran his thumbs along the tender crease where thigh met pelvis, sneaking briefly under that little strap of lace before traveling higher. Hermione sighed and moved into his touch. Her request was intended for something more immediately gratifying, but the feeling of his fingers on her skin, reading her flesh like a love letter in Braille, worked like a very slow, very strong drug on her senses. All the while, his eyes never left hers, and she found herself riveted to those blazing pools of liquid steel.   
  
Finally his hands found her breasts, but teased around their curves unsatisfactorily. A smirk played across his lips as she arched into him, and he gave a small shake of his head. “Tell me, kitten,” he reminded her softly.   
  
She grimaced in frustration, hating having to say these things, yet feeling increasingly aroused by Sirius’ set of rules all the same.   
  
“Take off my bra,” she said, and swallowed. “Open it and touch… them.”  
  
When he hesitated with a raised eyebrow, she blushed and added, “Please,” which brought a warm chuckle from him.  
  
With a twist of his fingers, the front clasp was undone and he pushed the material away, sliding his flattened palms across her breasts in one swift move. Hermione inhaled sharply with a hiss and exhaled a desperate moan, her head falling back against the pillows as his fingers and thumbs paid delicious attention to her nipples.   
  
“Oh...” she sighed, opening her eyes again to find Sirius watching her like a starved man at a banquet.   
  
“You are so very, very beautiful, love,” he said raggedly. “So responsive…” he added as he pinched one rosy tip, causing her to gasp and squirm as the sensation sent a jolt to her core.   
  
Hermione smiled inwardly as she watched him lick his lips, his eyes now fixed on her breasts. She gave a tug against the bedpost bindings and pressed herself against him suggestively, wondering if she could outlast him while tempting him to give her what they both wanted.   
  
Anticipation snaked through her when his hands slipped down her waist to the mattress, holding his weight as he leaned in, dipping his head to her chest. Without realizing it, she held her breath as his mouth moved to its target, but he paused, his lips poised just above one turgid nipple. She looked down then to find him watching her, breathing hotly over the puckered flesh, but staying otherwise still, waiting.  
  
When she tried to move, to make contact, he backed away just out of reach. Hermione made a frustrated sound of protest and jerked on her bindings for real this time.   
  
“Shhh,” he soothed, though his smile was far too smug. “All you have to do is tell me what you want, love.”  
  
She would have snarled and cursed him but for his hands that were smoothing over her skin in dizzying patterns again.  
  
Her chin trembled slightly as he gently massaged her breasts, and she closed her eyes. “I want… I want your mouth on m-my breasts, Sirius,” she said shyly.  
  
He leaned in and kissed her tenderly. “Was that so hard?” he whispered, trailing his lips down her neck, over her collarbone, and zeroing in on his target again.   
  
Any response she might have had was lost as his mouth found one breast while his hand worked the other one. Tongue and teeth and lips artfully manipulated the sensitive peak before moving to its twin as he slipped his hands under her, lovingly holding her to him.   
  
With her wrists bound and Sirius holding her as he fed on her breasts, she felt as if she was completely at his mercy, and they’d only just begun. In a flash of inspiration, Hermione wrapped her legs around his hips, hooking her feet behind him and pulling him to her until she could feel the hardness bulging against his jeans, pressing just inches from her own wet arousal.   
  
The movement caused him to sway clumsily, and he released her to regain his balance. Using her bindings for leverage, she ground herself against his crotch and grinned naughtily when he growled in response.   
  
“Minx,” he said, nipping sharply at her neck, but making no move to pull away. Instead he rubbed more firmly against her, the thick rough seam of denim scratching against the flimsy material of her knickers, pressing it slightly between her folds. “Are you wet, Hermione?” he rasped hotly against her ear as he repeated the motion. “Tell me - when I pull I away, will I find a lovely little damp patch on my crotch?”  
  
“Yes,” she whispered feverishly as he continued his obscene movements. “I – I think perhaps…” she added, panting as the heat began building in her abdomen. She knew she should have been mortified if he was right, and she suspected he might be. She was soaking wet and pressed so tightly against him now and it felt  _so_  good she thought she might come just like that if he kept rubbing her that way, and oh  _gods_  suddenly she just didn’t care about damp patches and propriety, she was going to –   
  
Suddenly he stopped. His hands gripped her hips tightly, preventing her from finding satisfaction, and she cried out in dismay, jerking hard enough on the dove grey silk at her wrists to shake the headboard.   
  
“Sirius Orion Black - ” she snarled angrily, her face flushing as he laughed softly.   
  
He scooted back a bit and sat back on his heels again, running his hands lovingly over her thighs and tracing the edge of her knickers over her pelvis that was now tilted up against his knees.   
  
“My poor little kitten,” he said, and lightly ran his fingers over the damp material covering her sex. “If you want me to help you, just say so.”  
  
She was a complete mess, a need so desperate it felt almost like panic seemed to possess her body now as he petted her most intimate area through the sheer fabric. “Please,” she begged. “Please touch me – I need you…”  
  
“I am touching you,” he replied infuriatingly.   
  
“More,” she objected in a ragged voice, shaking her head and closing her eyes, “More _there_ …”  
  
“ _Where_ , Hermione?” Sirius insisted, running a knuckle along the wet silk.  
  
She couldn’t do it. The word ‘pussy’ always seemed ludicrous to her, and other more clinical terms were, well – clinical, and that left the dirtiest word of all –   
  
“Come on, love,” he whispered. “You’re so close, so goddamned wet and ready and you smell so fucking good I just want to eat you. Just say it – tell me where to touch you and it’s yours.”  
  
As if to taunt her even more, he pressed his knuckle hard against her and massaged through flesh and silk, causing a shock wave to jolt through her.   
  
“My cunt,” she gasped, feeling her face burn hotly. “ _Please_ , Sirius,” she said.   
  
With one hand he grasped her last article of clothing and slid it quickly down her legs, shifting himself to her side, evidently to better cover her in kisses and love bites as his hand worked its way back to her apex. He slid a finger easily between her slick folds and immediately found her swollen, sensitive nub, massaging in small circles around the little bundle of nerves.  
  
Her body was drawn taut as every nerve sang with her quickly building climax. She let her head fall back as Sirius’ fingers worked mercifully over her. “Oh gods… yes,” she whined, squeezing her eyes shut as the first wave swept through her with a long sweet shudder.  
  
“That’s it, love,” Sirius murmured into her ear, trailing his mouth along her jaw. “Let go… you’re so beautiful when you come…”  
  
One last stroke of his two fingers on either side of her clit and she was lost – a loud cry cracked from her throat, forming words she wasn’t even aware of as he swallowed them with his mouth, devouring hers with a long hard kiss.   
  
She was still trembling under his caresses - now achingly soft and gentle, when she opened her eyes to find him smiling down at her. His gaze was momentarily void of any smugness or amusement, his grey eyes filled only with adoration. Forgetting briefly her restraints, Hermione tried to wrap her arms around his neck to draw him to her, but was held back.  
  
At her small attempted movement, he glanced up at the silk around her wrists. His eyes darkened and his smile turned calculating and sinful.   
  
“Sirius - ” Hermione began.  
  
“Not finished with you yet, my love,” he murmured, dipping his head down to her breasts as his hands slid back around her waist. “Can’t let you have your way all the time now, hmm?”   
  
Her half-hearted plea was lost in a soft moan as his tongue flicked across a nipple, followed by the gentle pinch of teeth. She wanted badly to touch him, but this was all too good, being held there at Sirius’ desire and whim. Thoughts kept trying to surface, to tell her how wrong and degrading it was to be tied up like an animal, but they bounced away like flotsam on a stormy sea. That was her naïve but brainy school girl talking, and this – this was just  _delicious._  She  _wanted_  him to own her, to take control of her, to coerce her into saying all the filthy words that should be wrong but were so perfect for the act of sex, even though she still blushed around them and choked on saying them.   
  
His mouth was traveling lower now and she writhed with anticipation beneath him. Despite his talented fingers, her arousal had not abated with her first climax, and she was still wanting more.   
  
Sirius’ hands cupped her arse, fingers spreading her cheeks slightly and slipping between her folds from behind. It was just enough to make her gasp, but the angle wasn’t right for any real satisfaction, and his hands only continued to her thighs anyway, spreading them apart as his head dipped downward.   
  
She heard him inhale deeply through his nose, a growl coming with his exhale. “Hermione…” he said raggedly.   
  
She looked down to find him poised between her legs, a predatory and hungry look in his eyes.  _What in Merlin’s name is he waiting for?_  she wondered distractedly. He leaned in closer and her eyes fluttered shut with longing as she felt his breath on her soaking wet sex.   
  
“ _Kitten…_ ” Sirius murmured pointedly.   
  
 _Oh._  He was going to make her ask for it, damn it. Hermione felt some smugness over his impatient tone, and half considered waiting longer just to spite the bastard. However, with another whisper of his hot breath across her hungry flesh, she caved.   
  
“Your mouth, Sirius,” she keened. “Please… taste me. I want to feel your tongue on my - my - ”  
  
He cut her off with a rough groan as he dove into her, his mouth and tongue ravaging her, lapping messily at her entrance only to slow suddenly, sliding up to tenderly kiss her swollen and sensitive clit.   
  
Hermione wanted desperately to grab his head, plunge her fingers into his jet black waves and cradle him to her in a perverse but loving gesture.  _Sweet Circe he’s amazing,_ she thought, and saw stars as he drew her hard little bud between his lips, sucking and nipping gently at the source of her growing ecstasy.   
  
 _Fuck!_  she exclaimed silently, biting hard on her lip. His tongue was flicking over the captive nub of flesh and she knew she was moaning and her mouth was working words she couldn’t even make out as he sent her senses spiraling out of control. She thrashed her head to the side, burying her face in her arm until she felt one, then two fingers pressing at her entrance.   
  
“Oh gods… yes…  _please_  Sirius,” she panted frenetically. “Fuck me… fuck me with your fingers, just - gods don’t  _stop_ …”  
  
She felt more than heard his moan, the vibration of his lips sending a shiver through her as he did as requested, sliding his fingers in and out of her, making sure to pay special attention with each passing stroke to that spongy patch of nerves inside of her. Her senses were on overload now, and just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, she felt the soft suggestive flicker of another finger even lower. It was so utterly naughty and dirty and it was truly the final push as body and mind gave over to a great crashing wave of orgasm.   
  
She knew she was screaming, her body flailing and bucking against him uncontrollably, but any coherent thought she may have had was long gone.   
  
“Hermione? Love?”  
  
Tender fingers stroked her damp face as her arms were gently released and brought down to her sides. Her eyes fluttered open to find Sirius smiling down at her, still fully dressed, although quite unkempt by now.   
  
“There you are,” he said warmly. “For a moment there, I thought I’d broken you.”  
  
For a moment, she’d thought so too.   
  
Then, realizing her arms were no longer bound, Hermione pounced. Caught completely off-guard, Sirius easily fell onto his back, and she deftly swung herself over, straddling his hips with a victorious smirk.   
  
She could feel his hard bulge pressing against her backside and the suggestion of her current position sent a new, deeper molten heat through her. She paid a glance to his face to find him watching her with an expectant grin, as if waiting to see what she would do next.   
  
Something about being so utterly naked and well-ravaged with him completely clothed beneath her made Hermione feel suddenly empowered and incredibly primal. He was _hers_ : hers to taste and feel and experience and love, just as much as she was his.   
  
Her hands finally free to explore him now, she ran them hungrily up over his chest to curve around his neck as she leaned in to press her lips to his mouth. He still tasted like her, something she secretly found extremely arousing. But there would be no more secrets, and she made her approval known by aggressively devouring his lips with hers, sweeping her tongue along them with a soft moan before slipping inside.   
  
The feel of his silk shirt against her breasts was cool and smooth as she broke away and slid down his body, tasting along the rough, slightly stubbled skin of his muscled neck and inhaling his masculine scent.  _Gods, she loved the smell of him_ : lavender, sage, and something vaguely woodsy combined with leather and his own chemistry.   
  
Her fingers deftly worked the buttons on his shirt, slipping each one through its hole until she reached the waistband of his trousers. With a tug, she pulled the bottom free and pushed the soft grey material away, sliding her fingers hungrily over his lean stomach and muscled chest.   
  
Her lips curled smugly at the low growl that rumbled from his chest. She glanced up at his face in time to see Sirius’ eyes close and his head fall back, a blissful sigh slipping past his lips. It was that sigh, that small expression of deep pleasure that made her realize – here was a man who’d gone nearly two decades without this kind of touch, without hardly any physical affection. She was moved, but also suddenly overwhelmed by such a heavy truth.  _He chose her._  
  
She leaned in and planted a tender kiss in the very center of his chest before tracing the intricate lines of faded ink over his heart. A sharp intake of breath, a faint moan, and his hands slid up and around her back, holding her to him as she ran her tongue over the pattern.   
  
Hermione took her time in just that way, covering Sirius’ flesh in loving caresses and teasing tastes, showering him in as much tactile affection as she could. By the time she’d made her way down to his waist, settling herself between his legs, he was panting softly, his fingers tangled in her hair.   
  
As she worked the snug black jeans and boxers over his hips and thighs, she couldn’t resist paying special attention to the silk-covered steel of his erection. That had quickly become another naughty little secret about herself, filed away with her punk rock music collection and trashy romance novels. She loved the taste and feel of him between her lips, sliding over her tongue, and she especially loved the surge of power that came from his helpless gasps and moans.   
  
“Princess…” Sirius groaned as she teased his cock. The sound went right to her core, bringing a wicked smile to her lips as she sat up and moved to straddle him.   
  
“Are you sure?” he rasped as she hovered over his hardness.  
  
Hermione looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “ _Please,_  Sirius,” she said, pressing against him. It was more of a demand than a plea.   
  
With a soft growl, he reached between them and grabbed his cock, positioning it at her entrance. “Come on, then,” he rumbled.   
  
A guttural moan tore from her throat as she eased herself down his length. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back as she settled over him, a shiver of pleasure sweeping through her. She stayed that way for a long moment, relishing in the feeling of this new position, while Sirius ran his fingers softly over her thighs, up her body, and back down again.   
  
“Are you alright, kitten?” he asked tightly.   
  
Hermione’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, and she gave him a dreamy smile before rocking her hips experimentally, breathing out a blissful sigh. “Oh, Sirius…” she whispered.   
  
Sirius squeezed gently at her hips, guiding her motions until she caught on. “My gods, you’re so beautiful, love,” he murmured in awe. “So perfect…”  
  
Hermione clutched at his shoulders as she ground herself back and forth over him, lost in the friction of her clit against his pubic bone while his cock filled her so completely. She closed her eyes, a desperate little frown forming between her eyebrows. Through her panting breaths and the blood pounding in her ears, she could hear Sirius whispering encouragements to her…  
  
“That’s it, love. Take me. You’re so beautiful when you come… I want to feel your beautiful pussy… clenching…” With every stroke, his words grew more and more labored, gritted out between his teeth, his own breath coming in ragged gasps and hisses.   
  
“Sirius… I - ” Hermione gasped, desperately close.  
  
“Lean back, love,” he commanded urgently.   
  
As soon as she complied, his fingers slipped down to find her. At the same time, the new angle ripped a cry of ecstasy from her throat as he proceeded to thrust into her, his cock hitting  _that_  spot, over and over until she finally screamed his name with a violent shudder.   
  
Sirius gathered her close and rolled them over. “ _Tsk,_ ” he clucked teasingly. “Such little stamina, Miss Granger,” he said, and continued to pump into her still-quivering sex, driving them both over the edge this time. 


	10. Real

  
  
The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed the one o’clock hour. Hermione frowned at the scattering of books and parchment spread out before her. She’d been staring at the same passage for thirty minutes now, the lines a pointless blur. Finally, with a heavy sigh, she sat up, rolling her shoulders to ease the tightness in her back and neck muscles. She stood and scooped up a slightly-worn book bound in emerald green velvet, a bottle of ink, and the slender pouch holding the glass quill Tonks had given her over a year ago. Then, stretching and giving a yawn, she wandered over to the large window seat in the corner of the library overlooking the rolling gardens that lead to the ocean-side cliff.   
  
She opened the notebook on her lap and unstopped the bottle of ink, balancing it on the windowsill.   
  
Remus Lupin had been right – there had been times over the past year when the only place she had to turn with her thoughts and feelings had been the pale blank pages of her diary. It was the one place she felt she could be ‘messy,’ letting the words tumble together in run-on sentences and half-formed thoughts.   
  
Since her return to consciousness, however, she hadn’t touched the heavily-charmed and protected notebook. In fact, if she was truthful with herself, she’d avoided it like the plague. There were things she just wasn’t ready to confront, and why taint her newfound happiness with a barrage of questions and doubts?  
  
After two weeks of secluded romance and mind-blowing sex, however, things were almost too perfect, unbelievably so. Hermione frowned at the blank page, the ink-covered tip of her quill poised. The man even knew how much space to give her. She could find no fault with him, no excuse for not wanting to stay in this peaceful existence forever, and yet…  
  
The soft breath of a chuckle by the doorway drew her attention. Sirius was leaning casually against the doorframe, a plate of sandwiches in one hand and a pitcher of pumpkin juice in the other. Despite her inexplicable discontent, Hermione couldn’t help but sigh inwardly at the tight fit of his jeans, or the way the ribbed sweater he wore stretched across his chest.   
  
Sirius’ eyebrows flicked upward and he gave a small shake of his head. “I would have thought you’d chucked that,” he said wryly, pushing off of the doorframe with his shoulder and striding to the long table in the library.   
  
Hermione gave a confused frown.   
  
“After the whole Christmas incident, I told him not to put my name on it,” he said sheepishly, nodding at the book in her lap after setting down her lunch. “It wasn’t that I – well, I just figured you wouldn’t appreciate it.”  
  
“I didn’t know you – I mean, I thought…” Hermione felt her cheeks warm as Sirius looked at her expectantly, his lips quirking in amusement. “Well, I assumed Remus was just being kind,” she admitted lamely, shaking her head.  
  
Sirius laughed. “Remus didn’t have a knut to his name, pet. The journal was his idea – I wouldn’t have had a clue as to what to get you. I did help pick it out, though.” He pulled out her chair and motioned to the plate of food. “You’ve been at it for nearly six hours straight, love,” he said gently.   
  
Hermione sighed and closed her journal with a quiet finality before unfolding herself from the window seat and joining Sirius at the table. She just wished she knew what was wrong with her.  
  
“How is the studying?” he asked as poured a glass of juice for her.   
  
“Fine,” she answered halfheartedly, reaching for a sandwich. She couldn’t help but smile slightly – Sirius had “indulged” her and sent Pippa to help prepare one of the other estate properties for sale. She was beginning to accept that house elves apparently wanted to do the work they did, but it still made her uncomfortable to be waited on hand and foot for every little thing. Both she and Sirius were more than capable of making their own food and picking up their own clothes…  
  
“Hermione… are you sure this is going to be on your N.E.W.T. exam?” he asked with a frown, picking up one of the open texts. “Granted, it was a long time ago, but this is a lot more advanced than anything they tested us on.”  
  
Hermione shrugged guiltily. “I like to be prepared, you know that.”  
  
He  _did_  know that, too. Sirius had surprised her by being incredibly helpful with her exams preparation, quizzing her and even teaching her a few things she didn’t know. She would never be able to convince anyone else that it was his intelligence that had ultimately been her downfall – he came off as such a careless and arrogant prat so much of the time, that people seemed to forget that he and James Potter had the highest marks in their class at Hogwarts. He just didn’t feel the need to show it off the way she tended to.   
  
Sirius gave a hum in response before opening the copy of  _The Daily Prophet_  he’d brought with him.   
  
He’d also quickly learned not to push her, and she could tell he was holding back, despite the unspoken message. She was already more than ready for her N.E.W.T.s. And yet, she wasn’t. She was floundering. She missed school, even though she’d studied so far ahead of schedule even before the term had started without them, it had taken little effort to get caught up. She just felt so aimless. Worse, her lack of distractions or purpose was forcing her to face reality.   
  
Hermione looked down at her sandwich, her eyes blurring with the sting of tears. She felt his hand curl around hers and squeeze, which only made her feel worse.   
  
“Sirius,” she began thickly, “I love you…” She paused and swallowed before taking a deep breath. “But I can’t stay.”  
  
When she was met with silence, she forced herself to brave his gaze, her stomach twisting at the sadness in his grey eyes.   
  
“Did I say… or do something?” he asked softly.   
  
“No!” Hermione insisted, shaking her head. “But, Sirius, this - ” she paused and waved her hand around at their surroundings. “This isn’t what I consider to be a normal life. I _know_  – I know your life has been put off for years, I do. But I – I need more routine than this, I need something to work towards, something that’s mine. That’s who I  _am_ , Sirius.”  
  
He grimaced. “I’m sorry, sweeting. I know you need that – that’s why I thought having the library here, so you could prepare for your exams… if you’re unhappy here…”   
  
Hermione pulled his hand to her mouth and kissed it. “I am happy here. But I need some reality. I need my friends and I need time to figure out life without the war, and I need - ” She took a deep breath as the truth hit her. “I need to know that this is real.”  
  
“…Real?” Sirius asked, frowning.   
  
She gave his hand a squeeze before letting go. “Real,” she affirmed. “I need to know this – you and me, isn’t just a – a reaction to the war, or to what James and Lily told you, or to what happened with Bel- well, at the Malfoys’. For either of us,” she added slowly.   
  
“I loved you before that,” Sirius insisted in a whisper, the hurt clear in his silver eyes.   
  
“But  _why_ , Sirius? Do you even know?” She shook her head, straightening herself despite the shame she felt at hurting him. She had to do this, or they would never be able to move forward. “If there had been no Viktor, no reason for jealousy, if I hadn’t learned how to dress myself properly, or reign in my know-it-all attitude a bit, if I hadn’t nearly gotten myself killed – ?”  
  
“Why are you doing this, Hermione?” he growled unhappily. “Are you trying to push me away?”  
  
“ _No_ ,” she said. “But there are no fairy tales, Sirius. It’s all well and good when we’re hidden away from the rest of the world and we can spend our days reading and having mind-blowing sex. But what happens a year from now, when our flaws start peeking through? I know you love me – I can see it in your eyes. But I don’t know why you love me. To be honest, I’m not even sure it’s really  _me_  you love, or the idea of me being in love with you.”  
  
There. She said it. And no sooner had the words left her mouth than she was filled with regret for them, a coiling, inky black snake of unhappiness and shame slithering around her insides. The look on Sirius’ face was one she would never forget, and she felt like the world’s worst excuse for a human being for putting it there. He had grown pale, his lips thin, his eyes hollow with disbelief.   
  
“I’m sorry,” she tried to whisper, but the words barely came out as a breath. There was nothing in what she said that she could take back, she realized. It was all true, but it didn’t take away the fact that she’d just poked giant hat pin in their balloon of happiness.   
  
He looked at her then, his gaze cold and distant, and merely shook his head, rising from the table.   
  
“Sirius - ”  
  
He just continued shaking his head and turned from her, silently walking out of the library, pulling the door shut with a deadly calm behind him. Hermione glanced down at her hands on the table, the pointless textbooks and parchment, the untouched food, the tiny bouquet of wildflowers in a vase that he’d brought her and refreshed daily since they’d arrived. Her mouth tasted of ash. A shudder went through her and she gulped a deep inhale before swiping the tears from her cheeks.  
  
It was nearly dark by the time she had calmed down and worked through several relaxation exercises, as well as reviewed her N.E.W.T.s notes twice. Finally, Hermione left the library and ascended the stairs to the master bedroom suite. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do next, but for the short-term, a long hot bath sounded like her best option.   
  
She hadn’t seen nor heard from Sirius since his departure that afternoon. While part of her was terrified she’d just destroyed or permanently damaged any chance of a relationship with him, in her heart she knew that this was something they needed to address. If he loved her as he said he did, they would work through this. And, if not, it was better to know now than continue fooling themselves and each other.   
  
The house was eerily dark and silent as she made her way upstairs, yet she knew Sirius was around somewhere. She knew he wouldn’t just carelessly abandon her like that - that much she could trust.   
  
Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough that by the time she pushed open the door to their bedroom, the dim light from the fireplace provided more than enough illumination.   
  
He didn’t so much as look at her when she came in, but continued staring up at the ceiling, his hands threaded behind his head, bare feet crossed at the ankles. Hermione stood there in silence for several seconds. Then, biting back a disappointed sigh, she turned to head into the bathroom.   
  
“I’m sorry.” His tone was calm, but sincere. The mattress shifted under his weight as he pulled himself upright to sit on the edge.   
  
When Hermione turned back to him again, he leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees, his head bent so that his dark hair fell into his eyes. She wondered briefly how someone could manage to look forty and twenty years old at the same time.   
  
Sirius took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said again, “and you’re right. And I meant it when I said I would never hold you against your will.”  
  
“I never felt that you were, Sirius,” Hermione said softly. “I’ve loved being here with you. But I’m not a doll for you to play house with. I need time to know and see for myself that we can be together in the real world.”  
  
“I know you’re not a doll, love.” His lips quirked for just a moment, and Hermione could practically hear the smart-arsed sexual innuendo he managed to hold back. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I – I guess I just wanted to try and make it all up to you at once. I’ve been an arsehole, Hermione, for a very long time. If anything, I should be the one wondering why  _you_  love  _me_ ,” he said with a sheepish smile.   
  
“Oh, Sirius…” she sighed, and sat down on the bed next to him.   
  
He turned to her and raised an eyebrow. “I need you to let me do this, pet,” he rumbled. “I’ve spent the last three hours sorting out my thoughts on this. Hm?”  
  
“Sorry,” Hermione mumbled with a half-grin. She didn’t ask what he’d done with the other three hours since he left her in the library.  
  
He took her hand in his. “I have  _always_  thought you were an incredible person, Hermione Granger,” he said earnestly. “Even when I was rolling my eyes at your swotty behaviour, or chuckling at how you liked to boss the boys around, I knew you were special. You bloody saved my life the first night I met you, woman. I don’t know what to do with that. Those are qualities I saw in you as a child, long before I fell for you as a woman.” He looked away and added, “I guess it reminds me that I’m old.”  
  
“You’re not ‘old,’ Sirius,” Hermione laughed.   
  
Sirius smirked. “No. In fact, I’m a bloody fucking idiot adolescent compared to you,” he muttered, and gave an impatient huff. “I don’t know how to  _do_  this, Hermione,” he growled. “I have no experience with this! I just – I feel, and I want, and at the same time I realize you’re the same girl who  _used_  to be completely off limits, and I know I do not deserve you after how I treated you, but I still need you like – like water, and I’m terrified I’m just going to fuck it up even more.”  
  
He paused and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before continuing. “That’s why I brought you here, why I said there wasn’t enough time to go through the motions of discovering what we already know in our hearts.” He opened his eyes again and gave her a remorseful look.  
  
“I know it was a cop-out,” he said contritely. “And it wasn’t fair of me to demand that of you. I should be honoured to just have the chance to prove my love for you, rather than insist you simply accept it at face value.”  
  
Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise. She never expected that much emotional insight from any wizard, much less Sirius Black. He seemed to read her expression quicker than she could mask it.   
  
“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he said with a wry grin and nudged his shoulder against hers. “My conscience, when I choose to actually listen to it, speaks to me with Lily’s voice. It’s James’ voice that tends to get me into trouble.”  
  
Hermione wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, but she didn’t really care. Suddenly the air felt clear, where she hadn’t even realized it was stifled before. She leaned in and kissed Sirius on the cheek. “Thank you,” she murmured, and stood.   
  
“Wait – where are you going? Isn’t there supposed to be make-up sex now?” he asked teasingly.   
  
Hermione smirked at him over her shoulder. “Maybe you should ask your inner Lily for the answer to that question,” she said as she charmed the lamps on in the bathroom.   
  
Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a pillow that had fallen under the foot of the bed, shredded with the stuffing spilling out. Recalling Sirius’ penchant for destroying the Black library in a fit of temper, and the fact that he’d only spent three of the six hours that afternoon ‘thinking’, she put two and two together and paused.   
  
“Oh, and Sirius,” she added casually, flicking her wand at the gutted pillow and levitating it at his head, “you missed one.”   
  


~oOo~

  
  
“Hermione,” Lavender sang from the doorway of the seventh year girls’ dormitory. “You have a guest.”   
  
Hermione rolled her eyes at Lavender’s suggestive tone, but she couldn’t fight the blush that painted her cheeks. “You’re just never going to tire of this, are you?” she asked grumpily.   
  
“Not anytime soon,” Lavender quipped, giving her hair a quick fluff in the mirror. “He’s wearing  _leather_  again, too. Honestly, I still can’t believe you chose to come back to this stodgy old castle when you’ve got  _that_  waiting for you.”  
  
Hermione shook her head and marked her place in her book before checking her appearance and going down to the Gryffindor common room.   
  
Sirius was engaged in a conversation about motorcycles with Seamus Finnigan and didn’t immediately notice her when she descended the stairs. His hair was windblown and his cheeks were still slightly flushed from the cool spring wind on his face. He was dressed in Muggle attire – his faded jeans molded beautifully to his muscled legs and arse, a black long-sleeved shirt stretched across his chest. The blue-grey scarf Molly Weasley had knitted for him in lieu of one of her famous sweaters made his eyes even more striking, and yes – his favourite leather jacket and boots, the ones he wore whenever he rode his motorcycle.  
  
 _Merlin, he’s gorgeous,_  she thought, as she felt her pulse quicken.   
  
He seemed to look better and better with each visit, and she knew it wasn’t just her own bias speaking. The stress of war was slow to leave everyone, but like the gradual thaw of spring, it  _was_  leaving. The wizarding world was changing, making its recovery in a new light. People were helping each other rebuild, and while Hogwarts students were still finishing out their year, those not in school were helping with that re-growth - Sirius, Harry, Ron, and the rest of the Order included. It almost made her regret the decision to return and finish school, but Sirius and the others were quick to remind her that there would be plenty of opportunities for her to help later.   
  
She was  _proud_  of him. It was a strange thought, and she was almost embarrassed by it. It seemed so arrogant, yet when she looked at him, at how he stood with a confidence that went beyond his usual cockiness… that was what she felt - pride. That, and an overwhelming hunger and need that had nothing to do with pride or morals whatsoever.   
  
“Oi, Granger,” Lavender said loudly from behind her. “You just gonna stand there and gawk all day or are you going to move?”  
  
Mortification bled into her cheeks as everyone in the common room turned to look first at her, then at Sirius, who was now practically undressing her with his eyes. Someone in the room let out a low whistle, causing Sirius to grin wickedly, offering her no support or sympathy.   
  
“Cow eyes,” Lavender muttered and nudged her in Sirius’ direction as she flounced past to sit on the couch between Neville and Parvati.   
  
Sirius trained his face into as polite a smile as he could, though his eyes still glinted sinfully at her. He held out his hand to her.   
  
Hermione frowned in consternation, but slid her fingers into his warm grasp and let herself be pulled to him. In the heat of his stare, the rest of the common room melted away. It had been far too long.   
  
While Sirius had special permission from McGonagall to visit her on Hogwarts’ grounds almost weekly, the last time they’d been able to actually  _be together_  had been over a month ago. Hogsmeade weekends were their only real opportunities for intimacy, and Sirius had been spending almost all of his time over the last month helping Remus and Tonks remodel and expand their cottage in preparation for the baby. As disappointed as she’d been that he wasn’t able to make it for the last Hogsmeade weekend, she refused to admit it. Their friends needed him much more than she did right now, and she had to trust in his feelings for her.  
  
Hermione was practically shivering with need now, though, as Sirius brushed his knuckles along her jaw.   
  
“Oh, kitten, how I’ve missed you,” he murmured, dipping his head before she could think to object.   
  
His lips teased softly across hers before his fingers slipped around to cup the back of her neck, pulling her against him more firmly. His other hand released hers to slide around her waist, resting at the base of her back and pressing softly. A helpless, almost silent whimper escaped her as his thumb caressed the spot behind her ear, and she parted her lips to him in invitation, which he accepted greedily. With a mind of their own, her hands slid hungrily over his chest and inside his jacket, encouraged by the low growl that rumbled against her mouth. The sound sent a wave of warmth down her spine that promised so much more…  
  
When they finally parted, Sirius gave Hermione a slow grin before dropping his hands and stepping back. It took her a moment to realize the room had gone completely silent, and when she glanced around, she found at least a dozen sets of wide eyes on them, mouths slightly agape.   
  
Hermione was speechless, her face burning hotter than if she’d stuck her head in the fireplace without floo powder. She gave an outraged glare to Sirius, who merely smirked and took her hand, leading her through the portrait hole out of the common room.   
  
They’d made it all the way to the top of the stairs leading down before she finally found her voice.   
  
“Sirius Orion Black, what the bloody hell was  _that?_ ” she hissed, digging her heels in to the marble floor and refusing to budge.   
  
“What was what, pet?” he asked casually.   
  
“ _That!_  You – you just… in-in front of  _everyone_  there! Do you have any idea how much they’re going to – oh…  _bollocks!_ ” Hermione stormed.   
  
Sirius turned and raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh. ‘ _That,_ ’” he said with a smirk before crossing his arms and leaning against the banister. “That was me being normal, love.”  
  
“ _Normal?_ ” she asked incredulously. “How - ”  
  
His eyes flashed silver and he pulled her to him with snake-like speed, holding her chin firmly in his hand. “You wanted to know that we can love each other in the ‘real world,’ remember?” he murmured, a note of command in his voice. “That works both ways, Hermione. It means letting yourself be seen kissing me in front of your peers. It means I get to hold your hand when we’re walking down High Street. And, as much as I love seeing your pretty cheeks turn pink, it means not being embarrassed about ‘us.’”   
  
Hermione opened her mouth but nothing came out. At her silence, he brushed his thumb across her lower lip, his eyes softening with familiar heat. “If I have to tease it out of you until you ‘adjust’ to it, you know I can and I will,” he threatened silkily.   
  
Just as quickly as he’d pulled her to him, he turned away and led them down the stairs. At the first landing, she stopped again. When he turned to her with a challenging look, she swallowed.   
  
“You’re right,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry.”   
  
Sirius merely looked at her expectantly, so she licked her lips and continued with a shrug. “I suppose – well, it sounds absurd, but… part of me wants to keep this all for myself. Not because I’m embarrassed,” she added quickly, “but because I’m selfish. And when… when Lavender, or the twins, or any of them… tease about it, I know they mean no harm, but this means too much to me to - ”  
  
“Ignore them,” Sirius interrupted with an annoyed frown. “Merlin, Hermione – haven’t you figured it out by now? The people who tease are those who love you, and it’s only their way of telling you they’re happy for you.”  
  
Hermione gave him a skeptical look, and he rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Fine. You don’t believe me, ask your little girlfriends when we get back.”  
  
“Did you bring it?” she asked, changing the subject as they descended the last set of stairs.   
  
“Hm? Oh, sure,” Sirius answered, pulling the book out of the jacket of his coat. He shook his head as he handed her the pristine print of  _Hippogriffs In Captivity – Care and Breeding_. “But why do you need this copy? I’m sure the library has it.”  
  
Her lips curled into a half-grin. “Never so much as read the first page, did you?” she muttered.   
  
Sirius shoved his hands in his pockets and cocked his head. “Well, to tell the truth, I already had that book. Hagrid sent it along with Buckb – well, when I was ‘babysitting _Witherwings_ ’,” he answered dryly.   
  
Hermione took a deep breath and bit her lip. It was a small thing, really, but for some reason her conscience wouldn’t let it go. It was the last reminder of her childish infatuation with the man she now truly loved. She cast a quick glance at Sirius before waving her wand over the book, transfiguring it back into his original gift. She sighed at his confused frown.  
  
“Happy Christmas, Sirius,” she said, and handed him the leather motorcycle gloves before turning to join the rest of the crowd that was meandering out the doors for Hogsmeade.  
  
A moment later, she heard a soft chuckle directly behind her. “I wondered why it smelled like leather.”  
  
“It did  _not_  smell like leather,” she argued. “I’ll have you know, I have the highest marks in Transfiguration anyone has seen in two decades,” she added haughtily.   
  
Sirius hummed as he tickled her in the ribs. “Wonder who that genius was from two decades ago,” he muttered. “I  _am_  part dog, you know, I can smell things you can’t.”  
  
Hermione gave a snort. “Only ‘part’ dog?”  
  
He wrapped his arms around her, causing them both to hobble to the large entrance door. “Thank you, princess,” he murmured into her hair. “They’re perfect, you know.”  
  
“I know.”


	11. A Future

  
“ _Sirius! It - it’s the most amazing… I – I’m a father! Dora just had the baby, and he’s, well he’s beautiful, perfect really, and – and I’m really a father, Pads! You’ve got to see it! Hermione, too, if she can get away! Come as soon as you can!_ ”  
  
Hermione turned to Sirius as the silvery white, wolfish-looking Patronus vanished into a thin mist. She couldn’t help but grin at the expression of excitement and happiness on Sirius’ face as he stared at the spot where Remus Lupin’s voice had broken the wonderful news.   
  
She quietly summoned the clothes that had been tossed around the little room at the Three Broomsticks, before nudging him out of his reverie.   
  
“Hey,” she said softly, handing him his trousers and nodding toward the door. “Shall we?”   
  
Sirius blinked. “We don’t have to go right now, love,” he said. “Can you even get away? Don’t you - ”  
  
“ _Sirius_ ,” Hermione laughed, interrupting him. “Of course we’re going right now! I’ll send word to Professor McGonagall. As long as I’m back by nightfall, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” It was the first new life brought into their circle since Ginny was born, the first post-war baby, the son of their dear friends and fellow Order members. “Come on,” she added, taking his hand and tugging.  
  


~~

  
  
They were both surprised and rather sheepish to find that they were the first and only visitors to see the new family. Remus quickly dispelled their concerns, however, informing them that no one else had yet been given the rather exuberant invitation that had come to Sirius and Hermione in Hogsmeade.   
  
He tapped gently on the master bedroom door of the modest cottage. “Dora, love,” Remus called softly. “We have guests,” he said before peeking in and then pushing the door open.  
  
“Hey,” Tonks said quietly, giving her cousin and Hermione a weary but happy smile. She was propped up with multiple pillows in the large bed, and her hair was now a soft, subdued pink colour, like that of spun sugar. “You’re just in time – Teddy just woke up.” As if on cue the bundle in her arms gave a wiggle and a muffled whimper.  
  
“Go on,” Remus urged.  
  
Sirius cautiously approached the bed, with Hermione lingering a few steps behind him, and Tonks’ smile widened. She raised an eyebrow at them. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous around babies,” she teased her cousin.   
  
Sirius gave a snort. “Hardly. I  _was_  there for Harry, you know. Changed quite a number of nappies myself, actually.”   
  
“Good, then you can be the first to hold him. He’s been very anxious to meet his famous Uncle Sirius,” she said.  
  
“You’re my cousin,” he corrected.  
  
“Doesn’t matter. Here.” She held out the bundle of baby to Sirius, gently shoving Teddy into his arms before he could get another word in.  
  
A corner of blanket fell away, revealing a full head of shocking blue hair on the newborn who was now eying Sirius curiously. Hermione watched with rapt attention as Sirius’ entire demeanor changed, softening in a way she’d never seen as he smiled down at the baby in his arms.   
  
“Hey there, little fella,” he murmured softly to the squirmy bundle, hooking his finger into one of the tiny little outstretched hands, and chuckling quietly when Teddy gripped the digit tightly. He glanced up at Hermione for a moment, his eyes filled with warmth. Just as quickly, an unreadable expression flickered across his face and he looked away, focusing his attention back on Remus and Tonks’ son. With perfect timing, the pink little face screwed up into an expression of pure unhappiness before his tiny mouth opened and let loose a long, startlingly loud wail.  
  
“Nice job, Pads,” Remus teased from the doorway as his friend tried to comfort his son.   
  
“Never mind him, Sirius. Here – he’s just hungry.” Tonks held out her arms. “Why don’t you and Remus go make yourselves useful in the kitchen or something? Give me some time to catch up with our girl here,” she suggested, nodding to Hermione.  
  
“Sorry,” Sirius mumbled as he gingerly placed the crying baby back in her arms.  
  
“Hush,” she replied, and shoo’ed the two wizards out of the room before opening the front of her robe to feed Teddy.   
  
When Hermione instinctively averted her eyes, Tonks clucked her tongue. “Nothin’ to be shy of, y’know,” she chided teasingly, laughing at the blush that crept over Hermione’s cheeks.   
  
“I know,” she responded with an indignant look. “I just thought you’d want some privacy.”  
  
When Tonks just smiled and shrugged and shook her head, Hermione regarded her with curiosity. While she felt it was a very natural and almost poetic thing, she had been raised to consider breastfeeding as something rather private. “What’s it like?” she asked after a moment.  
  
“Hmm? Oh. Well, it’s kind of weird, actually,” the pink haired witch answered placidly. “I mean, it’s weird in that it’s  _not_  weird, even though until he was born I kind of thought it would be – at least a little strange feeling. But it’s perfectly natural, really.”   
  
“Hm,” Hermione said with a nod. She shifted a little on her feet, still feeling as if she were intruding.  
  
“So,” Tonks drawled with a mischievous tilt of her head. “You gave us all the slip right after St. Mungo’s. No one heard a thing from either of you until you returned to Hogwarts, you know.”  
  
Hermione simply looked at a spot on the bedspread, not knowing what to say.   
  
“There was a several-weeks-long gap in there, dear,” she said meaningfully, her eyes dancing merrily. “So, are you going to tell me how things are going, or not? Between my cousin and yourself, I mean.” Tonks gave Hermione a piercing look.  
  
“Oh, it’s fine.” Hermione tried to answer in a casual voice, but she was unable to keep the smile from her voice or lips.  
  
“Uh-huh,” Tonks grinned. “You’ll have to do better than that, love. I’ve got my tit hanging out here like some cow udder – the least you can do is dish a little to make up for the lack of sexiness happening here.”  
  
Hermione opened her mouth to protest that motherhood was one of the most beautiful things in nature, but Tonks cut her off. “Have a sit,” she added, wiggling her feet under the covers.   
  
Sighing, Hermione sat on the edge of the bed. She remembered what Sirius had said just that morning about not hiding their relationship. An irrational part of her feared that telling anyone even a little bit of it would somehow lessen its dearness. However, there was another part of her that had been bursting to tell someone, to share a little of just how wonderful it all was. As much as she appreciated Lavender and Parvati, Hermione guiltily had to admit that she didn’t feel they were quite mature enough to grasp what she felt for Sirius.   
  
Tonks, on the other hand – the age difference between her and Remus, and the personal and social adversities they’d had to overcome – and now she was a nursing mother…   
  
“Honestly, it’s all rather surreal,” Hermione finally admitted with a smile. “To actually have those… those feelings returned, and it’s more, it’s so much more, and better than anything I could have imagined. I keep waiting for the other shoe to fall, or to just wake up and find none of it was real.” It was only a tiny admission, but it was a step, right?   
  
Tonks let out a dreamy sigh then raised her eyebrows. “Oh, it’s real alright,” she said. “You can ask anyone who visited you while you were out. He lived in that hospital room, practically, and Molly fairly well had to force-feed him that whole time. I saw it coming from a mile away, ages before that, though.”  
  
Hermione just hummed in response, remembering how Tonks teased Sirius about his jealousy over Viktor.   
  
“Oh, I think we’re done for now. Here, hold him a moment, will you?”   
  
“Oh…” Hermione breathed as she suddenly found her arms filled with sweet-smelling infant. She couldn’t help but snuggle Teddy close to her – he looked so pure and innocent, so utterly  _true_.   
  
Tracing a finger lightly over his little brow, she found herself in awe of his newness. One day he would be a little boy, fretting over his lost toy dragon, or showing off his bug collection. Then he’d be a teenager, a student at Hogwarts. She wondered briefly what house he’d be sorted into - she was learning only now, after war had brought all four houses together, that no one house was superior or inferior to the others. Hermione smiled at the tiny little nose and mouth and continued her reverie. Of course, eventually he’d become a man, falling in love, making mistakes, creasing his forehead with worries and his eyes with laugh lines…  
  
But right now – right now he was fresh from wherever it is souls come from, as close to ‘God’ or lightness as a human can be. Did he remember? What was he thinking in that little head of his? She felt her heart swell with wonder and a deep sense of reverence, as well as a sudden hope that one day it would be her own child - hers and Sirius’ - in her arms, wrapping tiny fingers around her pinky and letting out a contented yawn.   
  
She felt those grey eyes on her before she even looked up to see him standing in the doorway. The beatific smile on her face slipped at his expression, however. His brow was furrowed into something between a frown and a grimace, and though his storm cloud eyes were looking at her, they were unfocused, as if seeing something from a long distance.  
  
“Sirius? Is everything alright?” she asked, concerned.  
  
He blinked a few times as if startled. “Hermione…” he said raggedly, then shook his head as if unable to say anything more.  
  
Her gut twisting in worry and dread, Hermione quickly handed Teddy back to his mother before rising from the bed and following Sirius as he backed out into the hallway. “What is it? Has something happened?”   
  
Sirius simply shook his head again and led her out the kitchen door into a small garden behind the house, where he proceeded to pace in front of her, running his hand through his hair  
  
Hermione felt her stomach drop. Hadn’t she just said she was waiting for the other shoe to fall? Was this it? She frantically searched her mind for anything she might have been doing that would prompt Sirius’ sudden turn of mood. She had only been holding Teddy…  _Oh…_  she thought suddenly.  _He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want children, or a family, or… or…_  
  
Her worries were interrupted as Sirius dropped to his knees before her. The look on his face was…  _‘Lost’_  was the only word she could think of as his gaze searched hers beseechingly. When she saw that his silver eyes were bright with unshed tears, she stroked her fingers along his temple and cheek tenderly.  
  
“Sirius?” she asked gently. She still wasn’t at all certain what was wrong, but clearly he needed her there, and all that mattered was making things right.  
  
He shook his head again in response, opening and closing his mouth several times. Finally he grabbed her hands in his, bringing them to his face and planting kisses over her fingers and palms. “Hermione - ” he rasped, but was still evidently unable to say anything more.   
  
Finally, as if giving up, his shoulders slumped and his forehead rested against her stomach. He released her hands, allowing her to lovingly run them through his hair. He took a shuddering breath and, not looking up yet, raised his hand. There was something in it, and for a split moment Hermione’s mind wouldn’t process just what she was seeing. Then, with a pathetic snuffle, Sirius sat back on his heels and looked up at her again, his expression pleading as he held the small black velvet box open to her, revealing something that sparkled brightly in the mid-afternoon sunshine, blurred by the sudden tears that were threatening her own vision.  
  
“Hermione…” he croaked again, and shook his head.  
  
“Oh, Sirius,” she breathed, dropping to her knees to face him, her hand on his. “Is this - ?”  
  
He nodded his head sheepishly in response, swallowing hard.   
  
She reached up and cupped his face in her hands, staring into his eyes, almost blue in the afternoon light against the smoke-coloured scarf hanging loosely around his neck. In those ocean-silver depths she suddenly saw it – their lives together, their children and grandchildren, their sorrows and joys. It struck her so deeply it made her gasp.   
  
“I’m not ready for this,” she found herself whispering, despite her own emotions. “It’s not a ‘no’,” she immediately amended, floundering with her own thoughts and feelings.   
  
“I know,” he answered quickly, taking one of her hands in his and bringing it to his lips. “I know, love,” he reassured with an awkward grin, then sighed as if a weight had been lifted from his chest. “But I am. And I always will be, whether it’s next week or five years from now. All you have to do is say ‘yes’ when you’re ready. I just – I needed you to know.”   
  
Hermione searched his eyes and found only love – a steady, fierce love that filled her with awe. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. “I love you,” she mumbled into the collar of his leather jacket, smiling as he wrapped his arms around her.  
  


~oOo~

  
  
Until her last breath, she would never know just what it was that made the word finally slip past her lips, or why it took nearly a year for it to do so. Perhaps it just took her that long to recover from the war, to reach a point of normalcy she could trust. Maybe it was the fact that Sirius flew with her all the way to Australia to retrieve her parents, that he was the one who held her as she grieved over their anger and disappointment in her. Or, that he was there when they finally forgave her. It could have been the fact that, unable to find a painless and death-free way to release the remaining Black Estate house-elves, he’d sent them to work for various homeless shelters and charities throughout the Wizarding community. She would never know for certain.  
  
Hermione would always remember  _when_  she finally said, “yes,” however.  
  
It was early April, still cool enough to need a fire in the fireplace of the moderately-sized house they’d both fallen in love with. She was curled up in a corner of the sofa, and he was stretched out on the floor in front of the hearth. He’d gotten up moments earlier for a glass of water, and had come back with a mug of tea for her, fixed just the way she liked it. As she sipped at the sweet warmth, her eyes wandered over his long, toned body, starting at his bare feet, traveling over his faded jeans, across his broad shoulders and chest hidden beneath a dark blue cable knit sweater.  
  
She had to bite back a sigh at the sight of him in his latest acquisition -  _reading glasses._ He’d fought them tooth and nail for months, refusing to submit to the trappings of “old age,” until he finally couldn’t tolerate the headaches from trying to read without them. And _Merlin_ , the man read a lot. She’d had no idea, until they were finally living together. It was a good thing, too, because it afforded her her new secret fixation about the dark haired wizard. He looked absolutely delicious in them.   
  
He was going to be forty soon. She wondered what he’d be like at fifty, sixty, eighty… And, just as she did that day in Remus and Tonks’ garden, she knew she would be there for every one of those milestones. The only difference was that she was ready for that journey to begin now.  
  
“Yes,” Hermione said softly, though in the quiet night her voice cut through clearly.  
  
Sirius didn’t respond right away, and she wondered if he’d heard her. Just as she was about to nervously open her mouth again, he glanced up at her while removing his glasses and setting them down on the book he’d marked and closed. He pulled himself upright and tilted his head at her questioningly.   
  
Hermione knew that  _he_  knew what she was saying. Her heart hammered in her chest as she nodded.   
  
“Yes,” she whispered again, unfolding herself from the couch to face him directly.   
  
He moved to kneel between her legs, and dug in his jeans pocket, pulling out that small, black velvet box.   
  
“You’ve carried that around with you - ?” she asked, amazed.   
  
Instead of answering her, Sirius calmly opened the box and removed the sparkling, elegantly simple ring from its cushion.   
  
“Hermione Jean Granger,” he began, but was cut off as she pressed her fingers to his lips. He’d already asked her. It was her turn.  
  
“Sirius Orion Black,” Hermione whispered. “Will you marry me?” 


End file.
